


Things Learned About Others

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo develops Stockholm Syndrome, Horse heads in beds and sleeping with the fishes and all that jazz, I want to make a joke about The Godfather, M/M, Yeah it's a mafia AU that's all modern day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe just a dash of formaldehyde, and the habits of decomposing right before your very, la la la la, eyes, along with the people inside! What a wonderful caricature of intimacy!"<br/>-"Build God, Then We'll Talk"<br/>Panic! At The Disco<br/>A Fever You Can't Sweat Out (2005)</p><p>Mafia AU where Bilbo is a normal guy dating the mafia leader Thorin. He definitely didn't see that coming, but he's going to have to learn to deal with it, because if he leaves Thorin it's likely that Thorin won't let him live another day. Thorin takes love rather seriously, to say the very least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had writers block on my Thilbo Coraline fic so I decided to make this. I'll get back to my fic after this, and I'll try to work on both side by side.
> 
> Prompt (from Livejournal): Bilbo Baggins begins dating Thorin "Oakenshield" Durin, he knew some things were off. Like how Thorin was a little evasive when it came to his job, but always had enough money to give Bilbo nice things. And how he always insisted that one of his "friends" should keep an eye on Bilbo at odd times. And how he referred to his nephews as his "heirs" and seemed to expect a lot from them, even though they were barely college-aged.
> 
> It took Bilbo accidentally walking in on Thorin working someone over to finally connect all the dots. He's horrified at the realization, but is convinced that Thorin will murder him and his family if he tries to leave. So he plays the role of the mafia don's little toy and pretends like nothing's wrong, even though he's convinced that one wrong word will have him murdered.
> 
> Meanwhile Thorin's completely unaware of what Bilbo thinks and is delighted that he doesn't have to lie to his boyfriend anymore. Sure, sometimes Bilbo wakes him up at night with his vivid nightmares or gets pale whenever he brings up the family business, but Thorin figures he's still getting used to being the lover of a don.
> 
> tl;dr: Thorin is mob boss. Bilbo finds out and pretends to still be in love with Thorin because he's scared he'd be killed if he didn't. Thorin has no idea Bilbo's scared and thinks everything's hunky dory.

Impressing Thorin Durin was Bilbo’s key to survival. It had been an accident-he’d just come to check up on him at work when he’d seen what had happened. He knew it could have been worse, there was no doubt in his mind that Thorin could have done worse, but he still couldn’t get over the fact of what happened. His life had once been so simple-the life of a simple freelance writer. Only a few months ago he wasn’t watching the person closest to him scream at someone while holding him up against a door with a gun pointed to his head, forcing him into submission or else.  
The man looked average enough, not too large but not too short, with hair the color of a walnut and a round, chubby face that contrasted with his otherwise rather thin features. He was clean shaven except for some stubble that meant he either needed to shave or was trying to grow a beard. His pale skin was turning pink, and he looked like he was counting down the seconds that he had left to live. His light green eyes flashed over to Bilbo, confused at who he was but hoping that he would give him hope. Bilbo just bit his lip in reply.  
Thorin turned to face him, a look of shock crossing over his face. “Bilbo,” he said, lightening his grip on the man. “What are you doing here?”  
“You said we were going to get dinner,” he said, his hands shaking, sweat forming at the back of his neck. Already his curls were getting sweaty, and soon he’d feel like he’d just taken a shower, except his odor certainly wouldn’t be gone.  
“Oh,” Thorin said, “you are right about that. I should’ve notified you that something came up.” He quickly pulled the trigger as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then began to drag the body away with him from the side door of his office. He turned to face Bilbo, a twinkle in his deep blue eyes. “I’ll be out in a few minutes, just sit and relax, alright?”  
Bilbo took a quick walk around Thorin’s office, checking to see if there was anything else suspicious about the place. All that he saw were pictures on his desk of him (and there were lots like that), his nephews and sister, and a picture of Frodo.  
Frodo, Bilbo thought, remembering when he’d let him come see Thorin once. He was glad that he no longer lived on the same street as his young cousin, allowing him to be just a tiny bit farther from this madman. But the downside of it was that Bilbo was closer, closer than he now wished to be, with this person who killed as one would make a new pot of Earl Grey tea. He hadn’t even shown the slightest sign of regret. Why had he agreed to move in with Thorin?  
Because you hadn’t seen this coming, said a little voice inside of his head. Why would you? He seemed normal because that’s what he wanted you to see.

~

They’d met casually, at a coffee shop of all places. Bilbo had been there typing away at his old laptop, writing what had been his latest story at the time, about a recent outbreak of murders in the cities, all totally unrelated. He’d drank about seven or eight cups of coffee while doing that, and Thorin had sat next to him busy on his own laptop. He only drank about two cups of coffee. Somewhere along the line the two had struck up a conversation, casual things such as why they were there and how much longer they would be.  
“Work,” Thorin had said, not bothering to elaborate. Bilbo hadn’t asked any questions of it at the time, presuming that it just meant that he was a bit stressed out about what he was doing to talk about it. “And what are you doing? You can’t seem to stop tapping away at those keys.”  
Bilbo had given him a weak laugh, then had taken another sip of his hot, bitter coffee. “I’m a writer,” he’d said. “I was hired to write about the recent murders around here. I’ll admit, I don’t normally do crime, but I need something to pass the time.”  
“Did you take it because you needed the money?” Thorin asked. He had been quite well dressed, and just the clothes on him made him look like a king surrounded by mere peasants.  
“No,” Bilbo said. “I am actually quite financially stable, and I’m in a good middle-class position, but I do get bored sometimes and take up various hired jobs. I’m just waiting for someone to buy a book series that I’ve been trying to sell.”  
“You wrote a book?” His sapphire blue eyes widened.  
“It’s a collection of poetry,” he said. “I was inspired by various greats, from the classic Whitman, to the darker Poe, to the both lighthearted and yet haunting Atwood, and even to various authors who I had never seen pull off poetry before. My mother, bless her dead soul, got me into it when I was a boy. She was an English teacher, and when I was just barely out of my diapers she was already reading me Dickenson to bed.” He chuckled, remembering her softly reading it to him as his eyes began to flutter in the dark. For just a moment he was thinking about his mother and not feeling sad or worn out, something he hadn’t felt since her passing a few years before, unexpectedly from stage three breast cancer; had it been diagnosed earlier she would likely still be alive and happy.  
Thorin had looked throughout the entire thing as if he had no idea what he was saying. Bilbo imagined him wondering who Whitman, Poe, Atwood, and Dickenson were, and they were the more well-known poets. Had he mentioned more underground ones they probably would’ve gone right over Thorin’s head.  
“You seem to be quite the coffee addict,” Thorin had commented when Bilbo had gotten his fourth cup. “Do you not plan on sleeping tonight?”  
Bilbo had rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “I just need to keep my energy up.” The truth was, he had long since finished his project and emailed it to the current person hiring him, and had decided to stick around to speak with Thorin. Bilbo usually got nervous around people and didn’t naturally talk to many, but talking to Thorin was as natural to him as putting on a coat or tying his shoelaces.  
Thorin took a sip of his own coffee, a rather short one.  
Once Bilbo got his, he immediately began slurping it down. How good it tasted, and how it kept him going! If it weren’t for this then he’d be as worn out as his father had been after a long day of teaching at the University of the Shire when he was still alive, back when Bilbo had been but a late teenager, just a hair’s length away from being in his twenties.  
Their conversation had changed from work and poetry from their personal lives, both admitting to be single but never imagining what those simple statements would end up causing. Next they’d discussed family, and Bilbo had mentioned little Frodo, who at the time hadn’t even had his fifth birthday yet. Thorin had mentioned his nephews, who he had casually referred to as his heirs, but Bilbo had thought it just had to do with the fact that he had no children of his own. They’d gone onto discuss crime in the city, back before Bilbo knew that Thorin was causing part of it and allowing even more of it to continue.  
Bilbo had ordered another cup of coffee, his hands shaking in glee and because of caffeine as he took a sip of it.  
“You’re addicted,” Thorin had joked, a twinkle in his eyes.  
Bilbo smiled. “Well, what can I say?”  
It had been hours, with Bilbo ordering cup after cup of coffee, the two continuing to speak. At the time it had seemed that they would never run out of conversation, and they jumped from one conversation to the other. In one moment Bilbo would be discussing the meanings behind each of his poems-some about feelings that he didn’t understand, others about grief including all of its stages that ripped him apart seemingly limb by limb, to the few happy poems put in here and there, though they were often overshadowed by the more depressing poems.  
But eventually Thorin just gave him his phone number, a smile on his face. “I have to go,” he explained. “But thank you so much for this conversation; it was perhaps the most delightful thing to happen to me in a long, long time.”  
Bilbo smiled up at him. “I return the same to you, Thorin Durin.”  
That night, he went home and wrote the longest, happiest poem he ever had. When he asked a friend of his to look over it, they’d asked if it was a love poem, and if it was, who it was for. He’d replied that no, it was not a love poem, but deep down he knew that he was lying. At the very least it was a poem of infatuation, something he hadn’t felt in a long time because of most partners finding one reason or the other to leave him no matter how perfect he tried to be for them. Bilbo hadn’t had to act normal around Thorin, he just had to be himself, which was incredibly refreshing, and one of the best feelings that Bilbo had ever felt in his life.

~

Their first date had happened only three weeks after they became friends, but Bilbo had taken no hesitations when Thorin had asked for him to come. Donning his best clothes, he’d gone with Thorin to an Italian restaurant in town. Their meal had been fine, three different pastas with breadsticks, along with a delicious chocolate dessert, and finally some coffee to gulp everything down in. Thorin had jokingly aske d if he should order one for him and fifteen ti twenty for Bilbo.  
“I do not drink that much!” Bilbo had defended.  
Thorin had raised his dark eyebrow, the sparkle in his blue eyes returning. It always seemed to come to him whenever he was around Bilbo. And just like before they had a long, vivid conversation. Only one thing was rarely discussed, and that was Thorin’s job. He’d made a few comments about it, was always very quick and with as few words as possible. It had ended up leaving Bilbo even more confused than he’d been before he asked the questions.  
That night, Bilbo had had his first kiss in a long time. It had been warm and passionate, everything that he had missed and everything that he had never been able to have until now. His heart sank when it ended.  
Thorin had ran his thumb along Bilbo’s smooth cheek, which contrasted with Thorin’s bearded face. “I’ve never felt this way before,” he said. “It feels so strange, but I also feel like the happiest person in the world.”  
Bilbo smiled. “Me too,” he said, “me too.”  
And he wasn’t lying.  
They’d done it again, and it was like their last one, except increased by ten percent. Bilbo felt like he had the entire world in his palms when that happened, and he knew that there was nothing else that he could ever want in his life.  
And Thorin had showered him in gifts. At first Bilbo had marked it as something he did in hopes of keeping his affection, though he wondered why Thorin would think that he was losing him. His first gift had been a new laptop, one that must have cost him at least one-thousand and two-hundred dollars at the bare minimum. Bilbo had questioned why he’d given such an expensive object to him, and Thorin had responded with a shrug that he’d seen how old his old one had been and that he looked like he needed a new one. Next he’d gotten him a new smart phone, claiming that he’d done it just out of the kindness of his heart.  
“Am I not allowed to do something kind for you?” the dwarf joked.  
Bilbo smiled. “Thank you so much.”  
Next they’d been things Bilbo could have never imagined being able to afford, such as caviar dinners or electronics only available only to those at the top of the economic food chain. Other times he’d simply gotten him books of poetry, claiming that it would help him as he thought about all of his poems. When Bilbo had asked about ways of repaying him, he’d just laughed and said that he’d like a kiss. Oh, and did he get quite a kiss. . .  
Bilbo had guessed that his job had to do with working an office, probably a higher up position considering the kind of suits he wore. He knew it bothered Thorin to ask him about it, and as always he’d blamed it on work related stress, so of course he never mentioned it. Thorin always seemed to unwind around Bilbo, and on the rare times he saw him with others he could sense a tension between him and everyone else, as if they realized that his orders must be followed without a single complaint or question.  
He’d met his nephews, two playful yet serious boys, Kili being about eighteen or nineteen and his older brother about twenty-one or twenty-two, who seemed to both admire and fear their uncle. His sister had been a rather smart woman, who had discussed economics with Bilbo for a good amount of time. His friends were all kind men, who also all were dressed in the finest suits around. He tried to not let his more kept together and strict side show to Bilbo, but he couldn’t hide it forever.  
And then one day Bilbo had been asked to come live with Thorin.  
“We’ve been dating,” he said, “and it just seems like the natural next step.”  
Bilbo nodded. “I’d love that, so long as you don’t hog the covers like you normally do.”  
He whispered into Bilbo’s ears, “When you move in the two of us won’t have a need for covers.”  
Bilbo’s cheeks had turned hot and a bright tomato shade of red. “Oh,” he’d said, “that sounds delightful.”  
Thorin had smirked. “It’ll be even better when you experience it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the two boys treat you fairly or they’ll regret ever being born.” At the time, Bilbo had seen the line as being nothing but a joke.  
Thorin had helped Bilbo sell his home on Bag End Avenue, then helped him get all of the things he hadn’t given away or sold to his home. He had a spare room for himself, but it mainly held his material possessions. Thorin’s room was, for obvious reasons, where Bilbo slept. It was ten times as big as his room at Bag End had been, and it had been a rather nice house. Thorin seemed to have an endless flow of money, and as always, Bilbo never questioned it out of fear of making him angry.  
His room smelled of his cologne, a sweet, musky smell. It was rather neat, and Bilbo easily found room to put his own dresser. The walls were painted a dark grey color, the floor a light color carpet, though it was hard to tell what color it was because it always seemed to change due to the lighting. It was nothing like his old room, which had been covered in paintings that he’d gotten at art shows to support artists that nearly were starving, but they still had kept doing what they did best because they loved it so much, and their art clearly showed it. He’d given those to Frodo because he’d always been amazed by them.  
It had been a rather smooth transition from living on his own to with Thorin and his family. Bilbo and Dis became close friends, even to where she would read his poetry. He was lucky enough to get it published in multiple independent poetry magazines after she suggested he submit them. The paycheck hadn’t been much, but getting his work out there to the world was what made it worth it. Now perhaps when someone thought of poetry, they would think of a poem by Bilbo. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed the paycheck when he had Thorin, who seemed to sweat money.  
Bilbo seemed to have many more ideas for poems now, and they tended to be happier, and on the now rare times when they were sad, they had a dash of hope thrown into them for the reader. He had rarely done that before.  
He loved his new life. It was everything he’d never known that he’d wanted, but it was the greatest thing that he was sure that he’d ever encounter. His past relationships didn’t even come a tenth of the way to what he had with Thorin. It was warm and soft, and smelled like Thorin’s cologne. He couldn’t be sad about his parents’ deaths any longer because he knew that wherever they were, they were looking down at him and smiling, finally having gotten into a relationship. His mother had encouraged him to get into some years before, but like always they would leave Bilbo to pick up the pieces and wonder just what it was that he did wrong. After a while the relationships had happened less and less, and he’d kept his heart to himself, hoarding it where only he could find and get to it. But Thorin, oh Thorin, had broken through his shell and taken Bilbo’s heart with him, and Bilbo was more than happy to let him keep it. If anyone would care for it and treat it like the fragile object it was, it was Thorin.  
Or at least that was how it used to be.

~

Bilbo tried to relax, he really did, but no matter what he did-deep breathing, thinking calm thoughts, and trying to get his thoughts back in order. Thorin was a murderer and from what Bilbo could tell he didn’t care if he robbed people of their lives.  
He is never getting near Frodo again, Bilbo thought. Not while I’m still alive.  
He didn’t want him anywhere near the poor boy, as if he’d somehow give his little cousin a virus that would make him grow up to be just like Thorin. He shivered, having a terrible image of Frodo like Fili and Kili in his mind.  
When Thorin came back in, there was a genuine smile on his place. “I’m actually quite reassured about this,” he said, putting his arm around Bilbo’s shoulder and sitting down next to him. He gave him a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. “I’ve been so sick and tired of lying to you about what I’ve been doing.”  
“So you aren’t one of the top in a company?” Bilbo asked, a lump forming in his throat.  
Thorin sighed. “Well, yes, I am, but I am also in the business of making other things happen. It’s nothing too big, just something that I do. Don’t worry about it.”  
Bilbo nodded.  
“Are you worried?” he asked. “That was why sometimes I needed you to have others with you, just to make sure nothing happened to you.”  
Bilbo nodded, remembering the times when he’d make one of his friends stay close with him. “Yes, I understand. I’m not angry.” He gave him a rather weak smile. “It actually explains a lot.”  
Thorin smiled, then patted Bilbo on the back before rubbing his hand through Bilbo’s thick head of caramel colored curls. “I knew that you’d understand, Bilbo.”  
And Bilbo did understand. He couldn’t just leave, not now, not after he knew the truth. He had two choices: A) to continue acting as though he loved Thorin, though anything he felt for him had now disappeared, replaced by fear, or B) leave Thorin and have him or one of his men kill him and likely his family, even little Frodo. This was more binding than any marriage contract-it was something that really went throughout his entire life.  
He swallowed the lump in his throat, then told him that he was glad that at least that secret was done with. “I’ll admit, I never expected that,” he said, “but I can’t say I really expected much of anything.”  
And then Thorin kissed him, and it felt just like it had before, but it couldn’t make Bilbo happy. He was too busy worrying about what might happen to him unless he did everything in his power to keep on Thorin’s good side. Perhaps he could find a way to compromise. . . No, all he could do was keep the act up and hoped that it would last. If not, well, he didn't want to think about that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I attempt to write poetry.

Thorin bit into his spaghetti. It bothered Bilbo that he was all alone with a murderer, but he made himself appear calm. It was like he was wearing a mask. He felt fake-his life has transformed into a lie in such a short time-and now he’s just the idea of what Thorin wanted Bilbo to be.  
“Your cooking is marvelous,” Thorin said, wiping sauce from his beard with a napkin, staining the white red. Bilbo wondered if he would do the same if there ever ended up blood on there. “My compliments to the chef.”  
“It’s nothing,” Bilbo lied, though it was everything. He couldn’t shake the images of Thorin grabbing the guy and shooting him out of his head. It was so wrong what he did, but he acted like it was the most natural thing for him. And if he’d killed one person then surely he must have killed others. He took his own plate and began to dig in, but it was forced. He had made himself eat alone earlier, knowing he’d likely get sick later when he ate with Thorin. It felt as though he were being judged by Thorin when he did anything, even though Thorin looked as though he thought things were normal.  
“How was your day?” Thorin asked. It had been exactly one week, seven long and agonizing days, since Bilbo saw what happened.  
Bilbo began to play with his food as he spoke, moving his spaghetti around his plate. “I had a normal day,” he said. “I mostly wrote.” He didn’t know what else to say. Ever since what happened he’d been writing even more than usual, the words leaving his fingers and appearing on his Word documents sometime without him even realizing it; he’d just look at his laptop screen and see a good page worth of a poem.

Blood gushes from his head  
A pounding in my brain tells me he’s dead  
That was the last breath he’ll ever take  
And there’s a sickness I now have that I can’t shake  
Ghosts walk along my hall  
Their shadows dancing on the wall  
He’s dead, so dead  
And his voice fills my head

“Did you send in anything else to get published?” Thorin asked, taking a sip of his water. Then, he took a large bite from his garlic bread, crumbs spilling into his beard.  
“I have,” Bilbo said, and it’s not a lie. He’d seen a horror magazine stating it needed poetry and he’d sent in some of his recent ones, though it was under a pen name. If somehow Thorin or his friends found it and it was under “Bilbo Baggins” then he’d have quite a few things to explain. His new pen name is “Samuel T. Loranne”, and it’s something no one would ever guess himself as being. “But there has been no reply, so I’m assuming that they are not interested.”  
“What a shame,” Thorin said. “They must have no taste whatsoever.”  
Bilbo gave him a weak laugh. “It’s actually quite competitive. I’m competing against a bunch of others all obsessed with the craft and in desperate need of food.”   
Thorin looked confused. “You formerly were a starving artist?”  
“In a way, yes,” he admitted. “Back in my younger days, back when my mother was still alive, she encouraged me to take a summer away from everyone I knew and go a few towns away to take some time to work on my poetry. She gave me money, but the food there was ten times the normal price. Believe me, if I hadn’t gotten a few poems published under a pen name than I might have died!” He chuckled. “It was quite a strange time in my life. I ended up spending most of my time with some other starving poets, all of us comparing what we had.”  
“A pen name?” Thorin asked.  
Bilbo suddenly wished he hadn’t mentioned that. It wasn’t the same as the one he had now, but he still felt wrong saying it around Thorin. “Back then I was terrified of people seeing my name in the magazines if they used to know me. I was bullied as a child and commonly became paranoid about those kinds of things.” He took a sip of his water, hoping it would clear his throat. “Back then I called myself William Van-Dan. It sounded sophisticated, and I hoped it would make readers think I was older than I actually was. I didn’t want them to think of a late teenager nearly in his twenties with a bad haircut and dirty clothes.”  
“How much did they sell for?”  
“Enough to buy bread, milk, and whatever junk food I bought to make sure I kept my calories for a good two or three weeks.”  
Thorin went and got himself seconds. “What was your mother like?”  
Bilbo froze, thinking of his mother, the hope in her eyes even a day before she was pronounced dead.  
“I’m sorry,” Thorin said, “I can see that this is a very touchy issue for you.”  
Bilbo sighed. “She was quite the woman. She was rather strange, and some would’ve called her eccentric in the good way. There wasn’t anyone that she wasn’t kind to, and she did a lot of charity work. My mother was the one who got me into poetry, and she was a poet herself; she was published in smaller magazines, mostly ones concerning art in the modern world and the rights of women.”  
“How did she die?”  
Bilbo felt as though Thorin was going to keep asking questions, so he might as well answer him. “She died of stage three breast cancer.”  
“I’m so sorry,” Thorin said. “That must have been terrible.”  
Bilbo nodded. “I miss her every day.” It bothered him to talk about his mother in this way to Thorin, to a murderer. “So,” he said, clearly showing that he wanted to change the conversation, “how was your day?”  
Thorin shrugged. “I’m having a few problems with Azog.”  
“Azog?”  
“An old rival of mine,” Thorin said. “The hatred between us runs rather deep.”  
“What happened between you two?”  
“I cut off his arm.” He said this like he said that he enjoyed chocolate cake.  
“What?”  
“He was about to kill me! I would’ve ended him, but all I got was his arm.” There was regret in his voice, but not the regret of cutting off someone’s arm, but the regret of only taking their arm and not their life. Bilbo was right, Thorin did make him feel like he was going to vomit. He certainly didn’t like Thorin being comfortable talking about this, but there was no way to stop him. It seemed Bilbo would be learning more and more about what Thorin called his family business as time went on.  
“Azog is quite a man,” Thorin said. “He’s pale as a ghost, with a fake arm, and a white guard dog. His men aren’t what we’d call rich, but he is influential over various gangs in different cities. Thranduil is another rival of mine, and we actually used to be partners.” Seeing the look on Bilbo’s face, he shook his head. “No, not partners in that way, but work partners.” He winked. “And even if we were partners in that way, I’m sure he would never come close to what you give me, Bilbo. “  
Bilbo pretended to be happy about that comment.  
Thorin continued speaking. “He’s rather manipulative, and he’ll do whatever he can to get whatever he want. I heard he’s got an heir, a boy a bit younger than Fili and Kili named Legolas. Ugh, the vile scum was allowed to reproduce!”

~

Bilbo seemed to get rather paler the more Thorin spoke, his face becoming the color of milk, so he decided to not give him every gory little detail. Still, he deserved to know, and it wasn’t like he could keep hiding it now that Bilbo had seen what had happened. Thorin was just glad he was taking it rather well instead of freaking out. Still, he knew it must be rather difficult to adjust to this. Bilbo was a normal man who probably never even thought things like this occurred in the real world-they were just in books and cult classic movies.  
“It seems we have some free time,” Thorin said, pointing at the large clock on the kitchen wall. “Do you have any ideas of how to spend it?”  
Bilbo smiled. “Actually, I do.”  
Thorin stood up, then walked up to Bilbo. His lips were hot, Bilbo’s back pressed against the door. He ran his fingers through Bilbo’s curls, which he had started to let grow out.  
This is nice, he thought. It’s hard to believe that I used to think relationships were for fools.  
That was when Bilbo’s cell phone rang, and he quickly broke away from Thorin to answer it.  
“Do you really need to?” Thorin asked. “We were supposed to be enjoying this time alone.”  
Bilbo sighed, but answered the phone without a word to Thorin. “Frodo,” he said. “How’s my favorite little boy doing?” He looked to face Thorin, and Thorin gave him a reassuring smile and mouthed “No, it’s fine.” The person who was calling was just Frodo, and how could Thorin deny him of speaking with his nephew? He’d been such a sweet little boy when he’d met him.  
Thorin went back and sat down, eating another bowl of spaghetti while he listened to Bilbo speak with his cousin. It was mostly about small things, how the two of them were doing, Frodo’s friends-some children named Sam, Rosie, Angelica, Merry, and Pippin-, and how he was doing in school.  
“Math is hard,” Bilbo said. “But you can’t just give up on it.”  
Thorin took out a cigarette and lit it, then inhaled. He hadn’t smoked in a while, but now seemed like a good time to do it. He didn’t want Bilbo to think that he was eavesdropping on him, even if they were only a few steps away from each other.  
“No, Frodo, I don’t think that I have time to see you this weekend. Thorin and I were planning on doing something-”  
And that was when Thorin made his move. He stood up, then quickly walked over and took Bilbo’s cell phone. “Actually, Frodo,” he said, “we’d be happy to come visit you.”  
“You would?” the little boy asked, his voice filled with glee. “I’m so excited! I’ve wanted to see you again, Thorin! I want to show you a lot of stuff, and all my friends, and my new art projects! You’ll really like them.”  
“I’m sure I will,” he said.

~

Bilbo’s heart pounded against his chest as the two drove to see Frodo. His parents had been so happy to get the weekend off, and they gladly gave Frodo over to Bilbo and his “friend”. Thorin had some rock station on, but Bilbo couldn’t understand anything being said by them.  
He’s getting near Frodo, Bilbo thought. How could I possibly let this happen? He could probably kill Frodo without blinking an eye.  
That’s when an idea hits him: If he wants to live, he has to break Thorin. It’s impossible to change his entire views-Thorin will likely never regret what he’s done-but maybe he can convince Thorin that it would be wrong to kill him and Frodo. He’ll have to pull a few strings to do that, and some of them he’d rather not, but he’ll have to. Leaving Thorin won’t work, but if breaking him enough to where he won’t have the heart to kill Bilbo or his family sounds possible.  
Taking a deep breath, he knew that he was going to have to work hard to do it, but he had to. Morality is fluid to all, but surely a small amount was in everyone.

~

Frodo obviously had some Took in his veins, and he was busy drawing. He’d been drawing while the three waited for their dinner to arrive, Frodo’s fingers clenching the crayons that came with the kids menus.  
“What are you drawing this time?” Bilbo asked, taking a sip of his water. He’d already seen pictures of Frodo and his friends and family and animals, like his cat, Albert. His drawings were skilled for a boy his age, though of course they could still use work.  
“I’m drawing our neighbor’s dog,” he said. “It’s mean and ugly.”  
“Why draw it then?” Thorin asked.  
“Because I have nothing else to draw,” Frodo replied.  
“You haven’t drawn me? Why do you think of an ugly old hound before?”  
Frodo giggled. “Sorry, Uncle Thorin.”  
Uncle Thorin, Bilbo thought. We didn’t even discuss me being in a relationship with him and yet he knows. How? Are we really that obvious about it?  
Thorin smiled, then messed up the boy’s hair, causing Frodo to smile. “I’ll accept your apology this time.” Bilbo could only hope that he was joking.  
I hope he really likes Frodo, Bilbo thought, feeling sweat forming at the back of his neck. Oh Iluvatar, I hope that he likes Frodo enough to not kill him.  
It bothered him that Frodo liked Thorin so much. He couldn’t just tell him that his new uncle killed people. Then again, he’d liked Thorin very much before, and he never would’ve guessed what Thorin did. It seemed Thorin had a charm to him that dragged you in and never let you out.  
When their food came, Frodo immediately began to dig into his cheeseburger, food falling from his mouth and hitting his pant leg.  
“Frodo!” Bilbo said. “You have manners, so use them!”  
Thorin laughed. “Don’t be so stuck up with the boy.”  
“Yeah!” Frdo said, his eyes going wide. He looked in awe at Thorin, likely because he wasn’t used to having someone stand up to his uncle.  
Thorin smiled. “I like this kid.”  
Bilbo ate a fry, trying to appear normal. His feelings no longer mattered, he now had to do everything he could to break Thorin. It had to be good.  
Frodo begged for seconds, and Thorin gladly said that he could have it. Bilbo normally would’ve objected, Frodo was a small boy, but he knew that he couldn’t say anything now. He just continued eating. A poem began to form in his mind.

He’s looks so normal, I know  
If you were asked if you thought he was crazy you’d say no  
I can’t blame you  
But it’s true  
It’s not a lie  
I watched him let someone die

He’d type that out later.  
Frodo ate his seconds, then declared himself full. Thorin ate thirds, but Bilbo could barely keep down one meal. He ate half of a second to appear normal, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep any else down. Thorin asked if Frodo wanted dessert, and they all ordered milkshakes, Bilbo forcing it down. Frodo seemed to have forgotten about being full and downed a whole large glass of the chocolate milkshake, and he was incredibly hyper once he had finished.  
Frodo was jumping from foot to foot as they walked to Thorin’s car.  
“Frodo,” Bilbo said, placing his hand on his shoulder, “you need to calm down.”  
Frodo stuck out his tongue, making Thorin laugh, the sound loud enough to be heard by anyone else in the parking lot. Luckily, there appeared to be no one else out there at the time. Bilbo saw a smile flash on Frodo’s face, and his heart both sank and rose. Maybe Thorin already liked Frodo enough to not kill him.  
Maybe, but he couldn’t count on it, no matter how much he wanted to. He would have to make this a constant fight if he wanted to guarantee their lives.

~

He decided to start working on his plan that night when they got home. They lay next to each other, Bilbo leaning against Thorin’s arm. He cupped Thorin’s chin and kissed him, and soon after Thorin returned it.  
“I liked today,” Bilbo said. “And Frodo definitely liked you.”  
Thorin smiled. “I can see why you like him so much.”  
Thorin’s beard tickled Bilbo’s lips, his tongue explored the inside of his mouth, their saliva intertwining. It was nice, and for a moment Bilbo could forget that Thorin was a monster, but soon the moment stopped. It numbed him knowing that he was doing this with a killer, but once it was started it couldn’t stop.  
Eventually the two were taking off their clothes, and after what they did, they went to sleep. When Bilbo woke up, Thorin’s arm was possessively wrapped around his waist, and Bilbo’s head was against his warm chest. It was nice, but the feeling was fake, just like him. He closed his eyes and returned himself to the nothingness of sleep, where he planned to stay.

~

There is a ghost behind me  
I’m the only one who can see  
I told it to go away  
But it won’t listen to what I say  
It watches me all the time  
And it won’t tell me why  
I’m constantly alone  
Chilled to the bone  
The ghost eats my life force, which to it is sweet as honey  
And I fade, becoming a shadow of the person I call me  
I wonder how I taste to it  
It must be good enough if the ghost’s hunger will never sit  
And how it eats  
Oh how it eats

Bilbo turned off his Word file, no longer able to stare at it. He’s been writing even more than usual and he’s mad at himself for it. His emotions are turning into a giant puddle that covers him and never dries. Every emotion runs through him, and one moment he’s happy and the next near tears. Why can’t he just do be normal?  
He takes out a cigarette and lights it, then goes back to trying to type up a poem. But no matter what he does, and he tries not to, the poems are all sad, a sense of fear in them.  
It seems by some rather terrible predicaments he has finally reached his full potential in the poetry world, and there’s nothing to make his fingers stop typing it out. And it is no lie that the man’s ghost follows him, because he does, and he won’t let Bilbo forget it. He hid in every shadow, always staring, waiting for Bilbo to notice him. He knew he should do something, but he didn’t want to join the ghost’s company either. It leaves the secrets eating him inside out, turning him into a shell.  
He’s scared of dying but he feels that he no longer knows how to live.

~

“Dad, I can’t do this,” says the young blond-haired boy.  
“You need to,” his father replied. “I need you to just learn a few things from him, nothing else.”  
“Dad, this is wrong.”  
“Please, son.”  
“No.” His voice was firm. “I don’t need to listen to you.”  
“I am your father and you will respect me!”  
“I know that morals come before blood.”  
“I will take that damn dictionary from you and never let you touch it again.” A blood vessel popped out of the pale man’s neck. He regretted being proud for his son being so mature for his incredibly young age. Most kindergartners don’t even know what the word “moral” means. “Tell me what you want in return and I will give it to you.”  
His son blinked his large blue eyes. “I would like you to stop asking me to do it.”  
“You will do it.” He grabbed his son’s shoulders. “If you don’t do it then I’ll stop all of your archery lessons.”  
He stood shocked. “F-Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it!”  
He smiled, then patted his son’s head. “That’s a good little boy.”  
Only later do his men tell him that it’s better to use someone else as bait, and he confronts his son, explaining that his services are no longer needed. A look of relief runs across his face.  
“Will I still get to have my archery lessons?”  
“I promise you will,” he said.  
His son beamed, and the sight kept his father happy all day as he planned out what to do. He needed the Durin’s money, and he wasn’t afraid of using a few tricks that some would call dirty to get them. When you were in this business you lost your morals, and even Durin could verify this. He knew one day his son would change, but until then he had work that he had to do. When the day came, he would congratulate his son on finally realizing the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be able to update again in a couple days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long wait for the chapter. I'll try to upload again soon.
> 
> Bilbo gets kidnapped by the racist party god.  
> Also corny texts.

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered, “why?”  
Bilbo struggled, every step away from him harder and harder the longer he moved. His feet felt like they were connected to cement blocks, and his energy was draining fast. He wondered if Thorin would be kind enough to let him die quickly, but wasn’t going to get his hopes up.  
Thorin pulled the gun from his briefcase, then stared down at it. Bilbo could see regret in his eyes, and he hoped to Eru that he’d stop.  
Please, Bilbo’s eyes pleaded. Please don’t. You said you loved me, now prove that you do and just put down the gun. It’s easy!  
“Tell me why,” he commanded. The gun was at his side now, hanging limply in Thorin’s hand. Didn’t he realize that this was a murder weapon?  
“Because you killed him!” Bilbo said, feeling tears burn at the edges of his eyes. “Thorin, you killed someone and you don’t even regret it! You’re immoral!”  
Something flashed in his eyes, though Bilbo couldn’t identify it. He didn’t have time to, as it was only there for a few seconds before vanishing. Was it regret? Anger? Fear? Shame?  
“Bilbo,” Thorin said, “what’s wrong?” His voice sounded worried.  
Bilbo didn’t know what to say, his mouth dry. He stepped away once more.  
And that was when he was shaken awake, Thorin looming over him, clear pain and concern in his eyes. “Mahal, Bilbo,” he said. “Are you alright? You started screaming like you were about to be murdered.”  
Oh the sick irony, thought Bilbo, rubbing the side of his head. It had all been a terrible dream, and now Thorin was over him.  
“What happened?” Thorin questioned. “That must have been one hell of a nightmare.” He gave Bilbo’s hand a light, reassuring squeeze.  
“I-I,” he muttered, then sighed, feeling whatever was left of his energy leaving him. “I can’t even remember what happened.” He frowned. “Don’t worry about it.”  
“It sounded like something to worry about,” replied Thorin. His eyes were sad, filled with something that Bilbo couldn’t identify, just like in his dream.  
Bilbo rubbed his eyes, his eyes adjusting slightly more to the darkness. Instead of only being able to see a foot in front of him, he could now clearly see the entire room, as large as it was. “It was terrible,” he said, “but just a dream.” The lying hurt him, but he knew he had to. Besides, lying to Thorin was nothing compared to how casually Thorin murdered people. At least Bilbo still had a sliver of morality. “I’m fine.”  
Thorin kissed the top of his head, his lips soft. “Is anything bothering you?”  
“No,” Bilbo lied. “Sometimes I just have terrible dreams.”  
Thorin sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” His voice was both sad and filled with his desire to listen to what Bilbo had to say. But nothing could put Bilbo in jeopardy more now than telling the actual truth. “I promise to listen. When you started screaming it scared the living shit out of me.”  
Bilbo wanted to be honest, he really did, but he couldn’t be. “I’m sorry,” he said, then buried his face in his pillow. “I keep telling you, I don’t remember. You don’t have to work yourself up over it.”  
Bilbo didn’t see Thorin’s face, but he imagined the hurt and pain crossing over it. “Sleep well,” he heard him whisper, then kissed the top of his head again. He rubbed Bilbo’s back until Bilbo fell asleep, and perhaps he did it after, but Bilbo isn’t conscious enough to feel it.

~

There was a pain in Bilbo’s neck when he woke up, and he was rubbing it all the way to the kitchen. The nightmare the night from before rushed back into his head, and he could still remember how Thorin had sounded so concerned about him. Once in the kitchen, thankfully empty, Bilbo poured some cereal. The clock on the wall read that it was after eleven, and the sight shocked him. Had he really slept that long?  
Do you really think he’d turn the clock ahead? Bilbo asked himself. He sighed, knowing that he’d have to worry about his sleep schedule later. Now he needed to eat. The cereal was dry no matter how much milk he added, and it bothered him to chew. Everything seemed fake now. The only reason he stayed with Thorin was so that he wouldn’t be killed by him, but living like this would surely kill him as well. What was worse that somewhere in his heart he still loved Thorin, and nothing could smush it. It was a candle that never burnt out.  
When he finished his cereal and had it put in the dishwasher, he grabbed a notebook and left Thorin’s place. What he needed was a walk, just to get some fresh air and get his blood circulating. He pulled out his cell phone just before he left and saw multiple text messages from Thorin, all asking how he was doing.

I’M SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU. PLEASE REPLY.  
THORIN

Bilbo sighed, then tapped back.

I’M FINALLY AWAKE. I’M SO SORRY THAT IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO REPLY. IT’S NICE TO SEE THAT YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT ME. ;)  
BILBO

And he got a reply only twenty or so seconds later.

YOU OWE ME FOR THIS. WHY NOT TONIGHT YOU AND ME AND NO CLOTHING? I THINK THAT’LL EVEN US OUT.  
THORIN

Bilbo’s face turned red as a tomato.  
THAT WOULD BE GREAT.  
BILBO

As Bilbo walked to a nearby park, his head began to clear. It was a beautiful day, with not a cloud in the sky and the sun warming Bilbo’s milk colored skin. He smiled, relaxing a little as he walked.  
Maybe things would turn out alright.

~

Bilbo was exhausted. “Thorin, can we stop?” he asked. Up until now he’d let Thorin do as he pleased, which had been hours after hours of sex. He was about to pass out if he didn’t sleep soon. If he’d thought sleeping until eleven that day would mess up his sleep schedule, nothing would compare to this.  
“It’s the weekend,” Thorin said. “We needed a nice way to spend our Friday night.”  
Bilbo looked at the electric bedside clock, the numbers glowing a bright red. “Thorin, it’s already Saturday morning! Can I please go to sleep?”  
He frowned. “I have certainly given you enough by now.” A mischievous smile, like one Bilbo would expect on the face of one of his nephews, flashed across his face. “There’s always tomorrow.” Thorin got up and began to put back on his pajamas. “It’s going to be a long night,” he said. “Stay warm.” He smirked, then kissed Bilbo on the lips. “You deserve a good night’s rest after what happened.”

~

Bilbo walked through the neatly lined shelves of the nearby organic grocery store, filling his basket with brightly colored vegetables to make dinner with. He hummed as he walked, trying to keep himself composed. It was a completely normal thing to do and it would surely make Thorin happy with him. His eyes would probably light up when he saw that Bilbo had come home and made something far healthier than the normal high-calorie meals he and his family usually ate. They all seemed to have quite exercising jobs however, as they were thin yet muscular.  
To make Fili and Kili happy for being forced to eat a vegetarian meal, he got them chocolate chip cookies, though they were organic. They could just learn to live with that.  
It seemed so strange doing this, being away from a murderer for a short time but knowing that he would ultimately have to go back home. He couldn’t run-Thorin knew where his family was. Frodo’s face shot through Bilbo’s mind, and he reminded himself that Frodo was the reason he stayed with Thorin.  
Bilbo grabbed some more food-vegetables, fruits, organic cereal-then left, whistling as he left the store. It was a nice day, and if he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, he could pretend that things were different, that he was still a bachelor buying food for himself.  
His car wouldn’t start. Bilbo scowled, then tried everything he knew of, but it wouldn’t budge. He sighed, then got out.  
“Need help?” asked a blond haired, pale-skinned man.  
Bilbo nodded.  
“Sorry, I couldn’t help but notice your issue.” He got in the car and started it like it was nothing. “Here you go.”  
“Thank you so much!” Bilbo said, then pulled five dollars out of his wallet and handed it to the man. “You’re a lifesaver.”  
The man just smiled again. “Have a good day,” he said, then walked away.  
As he drove home, Bilbo noticed a funny smell in the car. He couldn’t explain where it was coming from, and no matter what he did it still smelled terrible. He began driving faster. The longer he smelled it, the worse he felt, but opening the windows didn’t help much. Bile rose in his throat and his eyes fell down.  
He barely avoided hitting a tree, just barely hitting his foot on the break right before he passed out. He didn’t know that, however, as he was unconscious, and the blond man was behind him, ready to drag his body back to headquarters.

~

The headache almost killed Bilbo. He rubbed his head, trying to put together the jigsaw puzzle pieces. Standing over him were two pale-skinned and blond haired men. The room was empty, a light grey and chipping wallpaper all he could see, the floor below him made of hard brown wood.  
“He’s awake,” said one. “We better tell the boss.”  
“Why now?” asked the other. “I heard that he was busy.”  
“I’m pretty sure he cares more about this one then his current paperwork.” He stared down at Bilbo. “I’m sure we can offer quite a price for him.”  
“Thorin can finally pay us,” the other replied. “I’ve been waiting for my paycheck.”  
Bilbo couldn’t speak, he felt something over his mouth, along with something, likely rope, binding his hands and feet. He looked up at the people, wondering how he got here. Had something happened with his car?  
“Are you scared, you little cocksucker of Thorin’s?” asked one of the men. Both of them laughed, the sound echoing across the room.  
“I’m sure Thorin’s just his sugar daddy,” the other replied. “Who would actually want to put up with him without reward?”  
“No, he’s too old to be one. That kind of job is for the younger twinks, and he definitely isn’t one.”  
Bilbo wanted to yell at them, then rip off their heads. He would not be treated this way! But his restraints did their job and held him firmly in place.  
“Now go get Thranduil,” said one of his captors. “He’ll be pleased to see we got what he wanted.” The other left, and came back in a few minutes later with a tall blond man, his face just as pale and his hair just as blond, though shinier. He looked down at Bilbo with a smirk.  
This must be Thranduil, Bilbo thought.  
“So this is the one who we’ll use to bargain with Thorin?” He leaned down to look Bilbo straight in the eyes. “I thought the man had better tastes.”  
Bilbo scowled.  
“He looks angry,” Thranduil said. “Do you miss your boyfriend already? Don’t worry, as long as he agrees to our terms I’d be happy to hand you back to him.”  
“Anything else you need us to do, boss?” asked one of the workers.  
“No,” Thranduil said.  
They both looked happy.  
“Except guard the door while I interrogate our little friend here.”  
They both deflated, then nodded, giving him half-hearted “yes sirs”, then more authentic ones at his ice cold and hard as steel glare.  
Thranduil pulled something out of his pocket and held it up to Bilbo. “I believe this is yours,” he said.  
What do you need my damn cell phone for? Bilbo thought.  
“I took the liberty of reading some of the mushier messages you sent him,” Thranduil said. “It was quite disgusting.” He began hitting buttons on the device. “Now the next message will need a lot of emotion or Thorin might not even bother coming. And do you want to know what we do to victims who don’t have their friends come pick them up?”  
Bilbo felt sweat forming on the back of his neck.  
“We usually put them out of their misery,” Thranduil said, his voice low, almost as if to sound seductive. Bilbo would make sure that didn’t work on him. “But you seem like a special case.”  
“What’s a special case, boss?” asked one of his men.  
“Shut up, you stupid guard!” He looked directly at Bilbo with his cold blue eyes. “Special cases get to live, but we like to make sure they have no recollection of how they got to be where they were.” He flashed Bilbo a cold smile, showing off his canine teeth. “I’m sure my men can knock you out in no time at all.”  
Sweat fell like a waterfall. The determination in Thranduil’s eyes and voice told him that yes, he really would do this. He could already imagine it-maybe with a baseball bat, or use an axe, and Bilbo would end up even worse than Bifur. Maybe they’d drug him first and that’d make things even worse.  
“Now,” Thranduil said, “let’s begin the call.” He untied what covered Bilbo’s mouth. “Make sure that Thorin will come pick you up. My men and I have a temper, but we really wouldn’t want to harm you, Mr. Baggins. The Durin boy on the other hand is a different story. He and I go back quite a long way.” Bilbo didn’t want to know how.  
“Bilbo,” said Thorin. “Why haven’t you responded to my texts and calls?” He sounded scared. Bilbo just wanted to say that there’d been a bad connection, but he couldn’t, not if he didn’t want to live another day knowing his name.  
“Thorin,” he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking, “I need your help, I really need your help.” He couldn’t keep himself from crying. “Oh my Eru, Thorin, Thranduil sent his men after me and then-” He couldn’t say anymore and continued crying.  
“Mahal, Bilbo! When I find that damn man I’ll rip his life out of him!”  
Thranduil chuckled. “I can hear everything that is being said, Thorin.” He took Bilbo’s phone from him. “All I want is the money you still haven’t given me and things will be fine. You really should’ve paid it by now.”  
Thorin yelled curses at the blond man through the phone that would make a sailor gasp.  
“Now don’t get so angry,” Thranduil said. “Just bring the money and we’ll send him home without a scratch. I’m quite kind to those under my care.” He emphasized the last word. “But I’m also quite in need of that money. Be here in under an hour with the money and you can bring him home!”  
“I will rip your throat in two and laugh as the blood spills out!” Thorin screamed.  
Thranduil laughed. “The offer still stands,” he replied. “Now hurry here. Your poor little boyfriend looks like he’ll pass out from fear at any moment. He’s going to really need you tonight. Now hurry up.”  
“Fine,” Thorin said, his voice filled with defeat. “Just don’t hurt him.” It seemed so unlike him, like someone else was speaking for him, but his voice came out of their mouths. “And there better not one single scratch on him.”  
“There won’t,” Thranduil said.  
The call ended, and Thranduil left the room. Bilbo was all alone, wondering how this happened. He’d been so normal before, and if he’d been told that this would happen to him he’d laugh and say to the person that they had quite the imagination. Why would anything like that happen to someone as normal as him?  
The men glared down at him, but they didn’t cover his mouth again. Even so, Bilbo kept silent out of fear. He didn’t want Thorin to come and find a dead body.  
“He’ll be here soon,” one of the men said. “He sounded really concerned on the phone.” He made kissing noises. “You seem like a valuable resource that he can’t afford to lose.”  
I’m a human being, not a resource! he thought. For one moment he wanted Thorin to get here, for him to beg Thorin to shoot the bastards in the head so that he could watch them die in shock and pain, hopefully a lot.  
He counted down the minutes, but time took too long to pass. He tried to think but he realized that he didn’t like being inside of his head with only his thoughts. He just wanted to get back to a slightly normal life.  
But it won’t happen, Bilbo thought, a frown crossing his face. I can try to make it normal, but I’ll always know that my life really isn’t normal. It’ll all just be a game of who can act like we’re normal the most without revealing the truth the longest, and Bilbo was tired of being forced to play.  
He began counting down the minutes again.  
When Thorin came, a briefcase in his large hands and sweat running down his face, Bilbo looked at him expectantly. He hadn’t known what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. His mask of calm was melting off of him with his sweat and he looked as if he’d go crazy at any second. As soon as he gave Thranduil the money, he took Bilbo’s hand and pulled him away, out of the place that Bilbo had been kept captive in. No one else bothered them, and soon enough the two were panting inside of Thorin’s dark car. Bilbo turned up the AC to high, but they continued sweating. The area around them was green as envy, with trees all over the place. Spiderwebs hung from the tree, sparking in the light.  
“I’m so sorry,” Thorin said. “I should’ve been able to prevent that.”  
“It’s not your fault.” replied Bilbo, his voice weak. He could feel a headache forming and the shock of it all too hard to handle. No, this couldn’t have just happened.  
“It’s my fault that you were harmed,” he said. “I should’ve realized that being in this relationship with you would put you in danger. What’s worse is that this might happen to you again.”  
Bilbo’s heart beat even faster against his chest. “What do you mean it might happen again?”  
“You’re an easy way to force me to give people what they want. It was a somewhat ridiculous amount they asked for, but I had more than enough to give away, so I did.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”  
Bilbo closed his eyes and let the darkness swallow him.

~

He woke up next to Thorin, his head against his snoring chest, an arm wrapped possessively around him. Everything after Thorin coming and getting him was a haze. He was already forgetting what Thranduil’s place had looked like-which was good, and it almost seemed like a dream. He hoped to Eru that it was.  
But the way Thorin held him, closer than usual, showed that he was wrong. He’d been taken by Thranduil, even for only a few hours, and Thorin wouldn’t let Bilbo forget it. He spent the rest of the night staring at Thorin’s chest, unable to sleep. He’d had more than enough shut eye already.  
He didn’t know how to feel about Thorin not being his only problem now. It seemed that soon everyone would want him six feet under.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo develops Acute Stress Syndrome and I ask the big question.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, finally having stopped knocking, “I really want to speak with you.”  
“I told you, it’s no use,” Dis said. “Nothing would get him to leave, and he’s already shown that he won’t listen to even you. Just leave him alone so he can process what the hell happened to him.”  
“But he needs help now! If he doesn’t talk about it soon then things will get worse.”  
“And you became the expert on acute stress syndrome and post-traumatic stress syndrome when?”  
“I know that he needs help and that holing himself up, in my room none the less, won’t help him!” Bilbo cringed, sure that the entire neighborhood could hear Thorin’s screams.  
Dis snorted. “Your room? I’m pretty sure sharing a room doesn’t make it completely yours.”  
“Will you shut up?”  
“No,” she said. “I’ve always been forced to be your voice of reason, and you really need one right now.”  
Bilbo just wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out again. He couldn’t face Thorin, not now. All day he’d hid under the covers, reading poetry whenever he had the strength, but it was rare. Now he didn’t have the energy for it.  
“I just want to speak with him!” Thorin yelled.  
“And I just want you to listen to me for once instead of dragging yourself into a deeper hole that you dug up yourself!” Dis sounded as if she’d said that to him so many times before. “Just leave him alone.”  
“Why? It’s not like you could relate to him.”  
Dis screamed at the top of her lungs. “You fucking idiot! You act like you’re the only person who has ever had to face something like that. How in the hell do you think I felt when my boyfriend died and I was stuck with Fili and Kili alone? For so long I had to pretend that things were okay when I could barely hold myself together!”  
Rather than silencing, Thorin just yelled at her some more in what Bilbo guessed to be in Khuzdul, a language that Thorin and his friends all spoke. He guessed that it was rather obscene.  
It was silent for a while, and Bilbo could hear Dis’s light footsteps as she walked away. He could sense that Thorin was still outside, and only for Dis’s sake he opened the door.  
Thorin breathed a sigh of relief, then wrapped his arms around Bilbo, covering Bilbo with the deep smell of his cologne. “I missed you so much. I know we have a lot of explaining to do, but it’ll be okay. You didn’t have to hide from me.” When Bilbo looked into his face he could see tears forming at Thorin’s eyes. “I promise to do everything that I can to keep you safe, Bilbo. That was just a little accident.” He gave Bilbo a weak smile, which he did his best to return.  
The two sat on the edge of their bed, tension forming between the two. A sudden lust filled Thorin’s eyes, but Bilbo could tell that he was doing his best to suppress it.  
“I promise that if Thranduil or his men lays a single finger on you then I will personally see to it that their bodies are found in various ditches and dumpsters with no known suspects.”  
The idea terrified Bilbo, but he pretended that it was fine, that normal people said those kinds of things and meant it all the time.  
“Will you tell me about it?”  
And Bilbo did, down to every last detail. He tried to act clam-he always tried to act calm in front of Thorin. He was going from murderer to the other, the blacks and whites fading into grey. Why demonize Thranduil when he did the exact same things as Thorin? But at the same time he couldn’t deny what Thorin struck in Bilbo’s heart. It couldn’t be called love-he didn’t think he could truly love him anymore-it was more of a burning lust that needed to be fixed.  
“I’ll skin him,” Thorin said with a scowl, his voice low. “The ugly little rat.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll grab him by the throat and make him wish he’d never been born.”  
Bilbo hated Thranduil, he really did, and he deserved death, but did he deserve what Thorin was implying? Was the electric chair not able to do enough?  
“If you think you’re in any danger,” Thorin said, “then call. Nothing that happened was your fault, and don’t think that it was. This was Thranduil and his henchmen’s doings, and I’ll make sure that they pay for it, whether they like it or not. I’d gladly hang their heads on my wall.” The mental image made Bilbo want to vomit, even if he hadn’t eaten in a good deal of time.  
“Did they try to do anything else?” The way he said it showed that he didn’t have to say anything else. Visible relief flushed over Thorin’s face when Bilbo shook his head no. “Good, or I’d go end Thranduil now. I will wait, let Thranduil live a little longer so that his death can be even worse.”  
Bilbo’s heart began racing again. Like always, he knew Thorin would keep his word. He didn’t want to be having this conversation-he wanted to be at his home reading a poetry collection and drinking tea and wearing pajamas like back in the old days, when he was sure that he’d die a bachelor and he had been perfectly fine with the idea. But he knew he couldn’t go back-he didn’t own his home any longer and Thorin would kill him if he left. Besides, he’d find him without having to think for more than ten seconds. Wouldn’t his old home be the first place he’d run to anyway? If he could, Bilbo would run to somewhere he couldn’t be found, but the problem was he didn’t know where.  
Thorin hugged him again, the hug warm and full of the love Thorin felt for him, but possessive at the same time. He swallowed Bilbo in his arms and buried his face in his chest, allowing Bilbo to breathe in his heavy scent. The hug was like he was telling Bilbo to remember who he belonged to.  
He wished he had remained a bachelor. Dating his book and a cup of tea wouldn’t have been such a big deal to him, anyway. Now he didn’t know if he could even get back to that. It just seemed too impossible.

~

Thorin made Bilbo dinner that night. It was terrible-horse shit probably would’ve tasted better. It stuck in Bilbo’s throat, and even when he tried to swallow it he nearly gagged. This food was served to the damned in hell.  
“Delightful,” Bilbo muttered, but in reality he was wondering how it was humanly possible to make spaghetti of all things taste bad. Thorin really must have had a charm to him to make that happen.  
Thorin laughed, the sound filling the room, and there was a sad gleam in his blue eyes. “I made this for you.”  
“Obviously,” Bilbo replied, butting up his spaghetti. Some sauce had spilled on his chin, and he wiped it off. “You won’t be working in top French kitchens any time soon.”  
Thorin pouted, putting his hands on his hips. “I am offended, Bilbo. Is it really that bad?”  
Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, if you want my one hundred percent honest opinion. . .”  
“You’ve said enough,” Thorin said, then opened the fridge. “There’s some leftover pizza. Want that?”  
“Fili and Kili will kill us for it,” Bilbo replied.  
“Not on my watch,” Thorin replied. “They can spare another ten bucks and buy a new one.” Thorin threw his pathetic attempt for spaghetti in the trash.  
Once the two were eating, Thorin cleared his throat. “Bilbo,” he said, “you’re doing better.”  
Bilbo played with his food, moving it around his plate. He ripped off a pepperoni and began to nibble on it. How was he supposed to respond to that? The day had put so much stress on him that he was surprised he was still awake at that moment. He’d hid his visible problems, knowing it would only concern Thorin even more.  
“I’ll help make you better,” Thorin had said. “I promise I will.”  
You can’t, Bilbo thought. You can’t. Fish can’t breathe air and I can’t be fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the reason this chapter is so short is because I'm thinking of upping the rating and adding smut. I'll only do it if you guys want me to-so tell me in the comments if smut is yes or no. A longer chapter is to come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning.
> 
> Also Bilbo gets a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written smut in forever, but here you go.
> 
> If it is bad then it is my fault and I won't write any of it ever again. Of the smut was terrible then I promise that this will be a one time thing.

“Is this a good enough apology?” Thorin asked, running his hands through Bilbo’s hair. For once his hands weren’t rough, instead tenderly stroking Bilbo’s copper curls. He couldn’t help but moan in pleasure.  
Thorin smirked. “Do it again.”  
Bilbo rolled his eyes. “I can’t, you ruined the moment.”  
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll revive it then.” He began to unbutton Bilbo’s shirt, then his own. “Anything in particular that you’d like to do?”  
“No,” Bilbo replied. “You have condoms, right?”  
Thorin nodded. “I always keep one in my wallet.”  
“You were hopelessly single before you met me. Why would you need a condom in your wallet?”  
“I have cash,” he replied, then laughed. “No, I started carrying it when I met you.”  
“Then let’s get started,” Bilbo said.  
Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s hand and pulled it down. He could feel his cock-hard as stone and sticking straight up. “You have a great way of being subtle,” Bilbo said sarcastically.  
Thorin had the lubricant-he was prepared as ever. He fucked seriously, and though Bilbo could see he was enjoying it he also seemed to do it like he worked: do it and get it done. He did it slower than most of his normal business, but he also did it in a particular pattern. The first deal was asking, the next looking down to see if Bilbo was ready, then started. It started out with Thorin leaned over Bilbo, sucking eagerly. His tongue was quick and explored every part. This was one thing Bilbo hadn’t done before, but Thorin seemed like a pro for someone who a year ago thought they would’ve died alone. He probably was used to this-Thorin seemed like the kind of person who in the past who would’ve casually done this with friends.  
“What do you think?” Thorin asked.  
“It’s strange,” Bilbo replied.  
“Would you like to stop?”  
He nodded. “I’m sorry.”  
And then they went to what Bilbo was used to. Thorin nearly ripped off Bilbo’s underwear and went in.  
“I’m not hurting you, am I?”  
“No, you’re not.”  
“Should I go a little slower?”  
“No, it’s fine. I’m used to this.” Bilbo was-he’d done this with others before, though it had been some time. Still, he could go through the motions again.

~

Bilbo wrapped himself up in a warm, fluffy towel and began to dry his hair. He didn’t know what to think of what had happened only thirty minutes before. It had started rather adult and by the end of it the two were cuddling, Bilbo’s head against Thorin’s chest. He’d finally gotten up to go wash himself after what happened.  
Thorin was already half asleep. “You’re back,” he mumbled.  
“Yes,” was all Bilbo replied with. He threw his towel in the pile of dirty clothes he’d deal with tomorrow, then grabbed his thin pajamas and put them on.  
Thorin woke up completely when Bilbo lay next to him, running his hands along his chest as if he didn’t believe he was there. Only then did Bilbo notice there were tears falling down his face and spilling onto the sheets. He looked older, a few more streaks of light grey in his otherwise dark hair. There were a few more wrinkles on him, not enough to make him look like an old granny, maybe only one or two. Otherwise, he looked great for his age.  
“I’m sorry about what happened,” he whispered. “Mahal, I promise to make Thranduil regret ever being kicked out of his mother’s cunt.”  
“My mother would slap you for saying that. I said something along those lines to her before and she was angry at me for a week.”  
Thorin laughed. “Dis probably would too. Fine, I’m sure he was perfectly innocent and would never have dreamed of growing up and doing what he did to you when he was a child. But things are different now and instead he will regret ever becoming what he is now.”  
“Thorin, how did you become what you are?”  
Thorin sighed. “Do we have to discuss this now?”  
“I just want to know.”  
“I guess I can’t hold anything from you now that the cat’s out of the bag. You know how I run the head branch of Erebor Incorporated?”  
“Yes.”  
“My grandfather opened it, my father inherited it, and it would’ve been mine before a rich lawyer named Smaug took it from us. It was quite an adventure getting it back, leaving Smaug’s remains in a shallow grave by the highway where he belongs, but we got it back. In between that I got into some things to keep my family going. That’s the short explanation of it, or would you like the full book version? Or even better, the full book version read by Thorin Oakenshield?”  
Bilbo laughed. “No, I’m fine with that explanation.”  
Shallow grave.  
Smaug.  
Dead.  
No regret seemed to cross over Thorin’s eyes.  
Body found in dumpster-  
Body found in river-  
Body found by highway-  
Presumed accident-  
Presumed manslaughter-  
Presumed murder-  
Body unidentified-  
Body identified as a young poet named Bilbo Baggins-  
He forced the thoughts out of his mind, the sick ideas running off to hide, but he knew they’d return. Iluvatar, he didn’t know who Smaug was, but he knew he had to be careful unless he wanted to end up like him.  
“Anything else you’d like to ask me? I realize now I can’t keep hiding things like I used to, so feel free to ask.”  
“Actually, yes.”  
“What?”  
“Why do you have such ugly underwear? It can’t be white like everyone else’s, no, it has to be pink.”  
“Kili caused it when he added the reds with the whites!”  
“You’re just saying that.”  
Thorin rolled his eyes. “You have a problem with that?” He messed up Bilbo’s hair.  
He pushed some hair out of his eyes. “No.”  
Their next kiss was passionate, warm and fulfilling, just like it used to be. He was afraid of Thorin but at the same time he was the drug that he lived off of. Thorin was ecstasy, ice, coke, weed, heroin, all rolled into one and no matter how much rehab Bilbo went through, he couldn’t get over it.  
And he hated himself for it, but yes, he enjoyed it.   
He couldn’t deny that he’d had an orgasm, or that his cries of pleasure had been real.

~

It had been the second date, nothing too special about it. Thorin had dressed in a suit and dragged Bilbo (who himself had spent hours preparing) into a fancy restaurant, claiming he’d like the food. It had been nice, but he didn’t’ know how to say he didn’t something so fancy. The food had been fine, the staff good, but something in Bilbo was nervous. They’d discussed everything-family, their jobs, the antics of their nephews.  
“Just imagine when Frodo is Fili and Kili’s age,” Thorin said. “That is when you should be complaining.”  
“I don’t want to imagine that,” he said.  
What happened afterwards was what mattered. Thorin had drank one and a half glasses of wine, and Bilbo had both insisted on driving and him to stay over.  
“You act like I’m drunk,” Thorin said.  
“I’m not going to risk it,” Bilbo replied.  
Thorin had gotten home and had ripped off his clothes once the door was shut. His shirt was off in seconds and laying on the floor getting dirty, and his pants were about to be there.  
Bilbo’s face was red as a tomato. “Thorin, can you wait until we’re in my bedroom?”  
Thorin had raised an eyebrow. “You want to do it tonight? My, I never saw you as the fast type.” He wrapped an arm around him and messed up his hair. “But at least I won’t have to sit around waiting any longer.” He moved his hand down Bilbo’s side, heading towards. . .  
“Stop,” Bilbo said, grabbing his hand. “To my room, now.”  
Thorin rolled his eyes, then leaned down and grabbed his shirt. “Excuse me, mother.”  
Once Thorin was in his room, Bilbo quickly ran outside to his car and drove faster than he ever thought he would. At the pharmacy, he quickly bought a package of condoms, then drove home just as fast. This was the last thing he’d expected to happen, but he had to do this.  
“Mahal,” Thorin said when Bilbo walked inside the room panting, sweat falling down his face. “I thought you ran away from me.”  
Bilbo held up the box of Trojans. “No, no, I would never. . . I just had to get these.” He gave Thorin a weak smile, then noticed that he had a blanket draped over him.  
“Your face looks like it’s on fire,” Thorin said. “You really must have not done this in a while.”  
“Whatever,” Bilbo said, ripping off his shirt and throwing it in his dirty laundry hamper. “Let’s just get this started.”  
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”  
“You make us sound like we’re in a bad porno.”  
“Maybe we are.” He smirked. “This will be good enough to go on tape.”  
“Iluvatar, no wonder I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.” He walked over to the bed and snuggled in next to Thorin, the two fitting in like two puzzle pieces. Thorin wrapped his arm around him and messed up his hair once again.  
“Why do you always do that?” Bilbo asked.  
Thorin shrugged. “I just like to.”  
Bilbo began to open the box of condoms, hoping they weren’t too small-or too big. Iluvatar, he really hadn’t thought ahead when he’d done this. Thorin took the box from him, grabbed one, and ripped it open and began to put it on. Bilbo hadn’t known what to expect-but they fit almost perfectly.  
“You must be psychic,” Thorin had said, throwing the wrapper on the floor. “Or maybe you’re quite picky.”  
“Do you have to stay the dumbest things as we’re about to fuck?”  
Thorin gave him a kiss on the cheeks. “I want to make it like those romantic poems those you love so much.”  
“I don’t read erotic poetry. It’s not bad, but it’s never been my cup of tea.”  
“Good, because if you did you’d realize how lacking it is compared to the real thing.”  
It had been a while since Bilbo had done this, but he’d gotten back into it. Thorin had been absolutely giddy throughout the entire thing, and only then did Bilbo realize that despite him hiding the fact, he hadn’t done it in a long time either.  
Once they finished, Thorin threw the condom on the ground and wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s neck and pulled his head to his chest.  
“Is this necessary?” Bilbo asked.  
“Yes.”  
It was certainly warm, and his breathing was soothingly rhythmic. “But do we have to do it naked?”  
“Yes,” Thorin said, a gleam in his eyes. “What would make you think it’d be better any other way?”  
It seemed strange-he hadn’t expected this to happen in his house in a long time. His mouth was dry. After his mother’s death, life had slowed down for him. His poems had mostly been about grief, and many of them trashed. Though he’d recovered, he’d never done anything of this nature. At least when his mother was alive he always did this sort of thing when she was away for the night. Now the constant fear of his mother coming in and finding out that he had, ahem, invited someone over was gone, it was strange. He’d always known she’d probably just laugh and congratulate him for it, but now she couldn’t even do that. Quickly, he shook the thought away and looked back to Thorin.  
“Can I ask you something?” Bilbo asked.  
“What?” Thorin asked with a yawn.  
“Of all the people in the world you noticed me. Why?” He was too average of a man to be noticed by Thorin.  
“I don’t judge by looks-and I’m glad for that now.” He messed up Bilbo’s hair again. “I’d be missing out on a lot.”  
“I have another question.”  
“I’d be glad to answer.”  
“What’s your problem with my hair?”  
He laughed. “I just like to see how worried you get when I mess it up. Don’t tell me you’re hiding a bald spot.”  
“No, no.”  
“Good,” Thorin said, then messed it up again.

~

Frodo’s voice was on the other line. “Uncle Bilbo,” he said. “Someone needs to talk to you.”  
“Okay,” Bilbo said. Sam probably had to tell him something Frodo couldn’t-that had happened before.   
The voice that came up, however, was unfamiliar to him. The voice was too timid to belong to Merry, Pippin, or Sam, and he’d heard Daisy and Angelica’s voices before and it sounded completely different.  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”  
“What’s wrong? What are you sorry for?”  
The voice began to cry. “I’m so sorry for what my daddy did-I would’ve stopped it if I could. But I couldn’t and then. . .”  
The puzzle pieces began to fit together. “Thranduil is your father.”  
The statement only made the child cry even harder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it! His men are just so big and he told me to go back to my room, and, and! I didn’t want them to do it; I don’t like it! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”  
“Whoever you are,” Bilbo said, “it’s not your fault and I hold no grudge against you. Now may I ask you something?”  
The voice on the end of the line sniffled. “Y-yes.”  
“How did you know my nephew?”  
“My daddy was looking through photos on your phone when I came in and I saw one of him. I recognized him from one of the other schools.” So the boy must have been Frodo’s age or a few years younger or older. He’d guessed that he was already, but he hadn’t had solid proof beforehand.  
“It wasn’t your fault,” repeated Bilbo. “I do not blame you for it.” He knew now all he could do was try to ease this kid’s conscious-they obviously were just as bothered by it as Bilbo was. “Please don’t blame yourself, that’s all I ask for. You couldn’t do anything.”  
The boy sniffled again. “Okay. I’m just so sorry.”  
“You don’t have to be,” Bilbo said. “But thank you. Now can you do me something?”  
“What?”  
“Do not mention this to anyone. When you leave Frodo’s house, act as though you went and played with Frodo, nothing else.”  
“I was already going to say that, but okay.”  
“Good. Now have a good day.”  
“I-I’ll try.” There was a sound on the other line of the phone being passed.  
“Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said, “what happened?”  
Bilbo released a heavy sigh. He was going to have a migraine by the end of this. All he wanted was to erase the event from his memory. “Nothing for you to worry about. It’s Thorin and I’s business only. Just forget about it, okay?”  
“Okay,” Frodo said, though he sounded unsure.  
“Frodo, really, please don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to become an old man like me who worries about everything.”  
Frodo laughed. “You’re not an old man, Uncle Bilbo.”  
“Well worrying will make me one faster.”  
“I love you, Uncle Bilbo.”  
“The same for you, Frodo. Now can you do me a favor?”  
“What?”  
“Open your money jar and pull out enough for an ice cream for you and that one kid. The next time I see you I’ll pay back for it. Get one as big as each of you want and with as many toppings as you could possibly desire.”  
“Thank you, Uncle Bilbo! That’s great.”  
He knew they both deserved it. “Just promise not to worry, okay?”  
“I promise.”  
“Good. I love you, Frodo.”  
“I already said that!”  
He smiled. “I know, but I just needed to remind you.”  
“Bye, Uncle Bilbo.”  
“Bye.”  
When they hung up, Bilbo rubbed his head. Iluvatar, how could talking to his nephew exhaust him like this? He walked into the kitchen and stole one of Fili and Kili’s candy bars (they had twenty? Would they really notice one missing?) and ripped it open and ate it. He threw the wrapper away and figured if they cared they’d blame their uncle or Dis.  
He began making dinner, and decided on salad. Everyone would be home in half an hour, and he’d seen them all fight over who got in first.  
And thirty-five minutes later when they all sat at a table, Dis and her sons promptly stood up and said they were going out.  
“I can’t eat salad,” she said.  
Thorin scowled. “It’s not that bad.”  
Kili laughed. “You hate it even more than we do, uncle. You normally wouldn’t touch it unless Bilbo made you.”  
“He’s changing you,” Fili said.  
“Yeah,” added Kili, “you used to eat three steaks a meal, and they were all twenty ounces each. You thought salad was for the likes of Elrond and Thra-” He stopped speaking at the glare of his uncle. “Never mind, let’s get going.”  
Bilbo knew what he was going to say.  
Thranduil.  
The Elrond person he’d heard of, but he’d never met. He tried to look as calm as possible, like it didn’t bother him. Everyone seemed to fall for it. If Bilbo kept all this acting up then he’d have more Oscars than Leonardo Dicaprio.  
“Well, let’s get going,” Dis said. “Enjoy the salad, bro.”  
Thorin rolled his eyes. “More for me.”  
She laughed. “I hope your stomach knows how to properly digest it.”  
When they were alone, Thorin apologized. “My family can be rather blunt, and will state exactly what they wish they do.”  
“No,” Bilbo said, eating a forkful of salad, “it’s not your fault.” He seemed to be saying that a lot that day.  
Thorin nodded, then added more salad dressing. At least he was trying to eat it rather than walking out-Bilbo could care less if he drowned the damn stuff in dressing so long as he put it down his throat.  
“Thorin,” Bilbo said, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking, “something happened to me today.”  
“It involved Thranduil, didn’t it?”  
Bilbo gave a weak laugh. “You must be psychic. . .”  
Thorin didn’t laugh, instead reached out and grabbed Bilbo’s wrists. “What the hell did he do to you? So help me Mahal I will go and kill him right now.”  
“No, he didn’t do anything. His kid-”  
“He’s already trained his damn five year old son to do this shit?”  
So the speaker was a boy, thought Bilbo.  
“No, he called to apologize.”  
Thorin let go of his wrists and looked utterly confused. “What do you mean he called to apologize?”  
Bilbo looked down at his wrists, figuring that they’d likely need to be fixed up soon or a bruise would form. He’d never realized that Thorin’s grip could be so strong, and it wasn’t something he wanted to learn.  
Iluvatar, Bilbo thought. If he can do that, then what can he do with his hands around my throat?  
“I mean,” Bilbo said, trying to shake away the idea of Thorin’s wrapped hands around his throat, “that he called to say that he was sorry that he couldn’t stop his father. He’d seen a photo of Frodo and recognized him. He went over to ask if he could call me, and he did. When he got on the line he started crying and saying that he was sorry that he couldn’t stop his father. It sounded like he was traumatized, and I can tell that he hates what his father did. I had to make sure the kid didn’t break down.”  
“Oh,” Thorin said. For a while he was silent, thinking over what he’d just been told. “Does that mean that Frodo was put in danger?”  
“His son promised to lie,” he said.  
A vein in Thorin’s neck stuck out. “And you know he’ll promise to keep that how?”  
“The boy was crying a goddamn river, and I’ve learned to tell when tears are real. What if he did something to Frodo?”  
“Iluvatar, what is your fucking problem?!”  
Oh no, he realized, the words are out of my mouth.  
Quickly, he pulled out his cell and called Frodo. The boy picked up after two rings. “Hi, Uncle Bilbo! Why are you calling? I don’ mean to sound rude, but I just lost a tooth.”  
“Congratulations,” Bilbo said.  
“I know!”  
“I just heard about it from your parents and decided to call,” he lied. It wasn’t a lie, he’d gotten numerous texts from Frodo’s parents that he’d mostly ignored, though one he’d bothered to read involved a tooth.  
The two hung up.  
“He’s fine,” Bilbo said. “Don’t worry, he’s not about to die of mass blood loss because he lost a tooth.”  
Thorin began to move around his salad with his fork. “Bilbo, this might not have happened, Thranduil could’ve gotten his son to hurt Frodo.”  
Bilbo ground his teeth together. “Don’t bring Frodo in this! You’re only using him to get to me! I can get into this perfectly fine, and I do not need Frodo mentioned! This is entirely between you and me! But you are not going to get Frodo pulled into this shit!”  
The vein in Thorin’s neck went out even farther, and Thorin looked angrier than Bilbo had ever seen him-and Thorin was known for being the incredibly angry type. The words were out and he couldn’t bring them back, no matter how much he wanted to.  
I don’t want to die, was all Bilbo could think. I should’ve figured this would happen eventually. What’s he going to do? Everyone would hear a gun, unless he has the soundless ones, or maybe he really will put his hands around my throat.  
But how could he stop what had already been started?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make the plot start rolling.
> 
> Just a little warning, before you read this, that this shows how unhealthy Bilbo and Thorin's relationship is in this fic. Please do not mistake this for a healthy, normal relationship.

But Thorin simply stared at him, looking into his soul with those cold blue eyes. Bilbo wondered why he didn’t end the relationship before it became too committed-the eyes should’ve been a warning sign. He sighed in defeat. “You are correct. I am very, very sorry.” He frowned, staring down at his food as if it would somehow give him answers on how to fix this situation.  
Bllbo was utterly confused-Thorin was known for being more stubborn than a mule and his head harder than a rock. “Thank you,” he forced out, then got up. He walked over to get some bandages to cover up his bruise. If anyone saw it he would lie and say he got burnt with his frying pan.  
“I am so sorry,” Thorin said, hitting his fist on the table. “Mahal, I’m hurting you.” He gave Bilbo a weak smile. “I’ll try to be better.”  
Bilbo nodded, a lump forming in his throat. Thorin may say he was sorry, but he knew he’d still remain on one idea: No matter how hard it got, don’t end the relationship.  
“I realize things must be hard on you,” he said. “I need to always keep that in my mind.” He began to play with his food.  
They ate in silence.

~

Thorin had left behind Bilbo a notebook. The writing was rather messy, and though Thorin didn’t have the best handwriting, even this was below him. It must have been hastily scrawled. The ink was smeared in parts, and many lines were crossed out. A few water stains dotted various parts of the paper.

Bilbo, I need to tell you things. Since we came together, I’ve been hiding things from you, but I know that I can’t. You need to know who my enemies are to be more aware of the dangers you have to face. I’ll do my best to keep you safe, but you also deserve to be aware of who and what can affect you.  
First up, I should teach you about Thranduil. He is the leader of an environmentalist terrorist group, and even lenient people such as Galadriel and Elrond have been known to side with him when at their worst times. His goal is destruction of most urban areas and making vegan diets mandatory. It may seem farfetched, but he isn’t the person you’d normally see walking through Whole Foods. He usually finds young people who he can put an easy impression on to do his work, but he has more powerful allies. We were allies once, but that was years ago, and from everything that has happened, it is unlikely we will ever be allies again. I would rather eat Fili and Kili’s cooking every day for the rest of my damned existence than be allies with Thranduil again.  
He may not seem as dangerous as others you will read about, but he is behind many environmentalist terrorist attacks. Most headline ones he only gave the money to in secret, but he’s organized attacks of his own. Remember seeing the mass killing of lumberjacks on the news while the killers were unidentified? He was behind that.

Bilbo bit his lip. The news had been terrifying, and everywhere he’d looked there’d been something about it. It had been a few years, about three or four, since the incident, but over two hundred workers had been killed, and the man who had kidnapped him had caused it!  
Eru Iluvatar, thought Bilbo. He knew Thranduil was a bad person for what he’d done to him, but to be so low as to kill hundreds of innocent workers, many who had been below the poverty line while Thranduil lived in comfort, was sickening.

His men tend to be very tall (six-six or more), blond, clean-shaven, and fair-skinned, and they hang around various places when not working. Be suspicious of anyone who fits that description.  
Azog is another enemy of mine. As you know, I helped cause him to lose an arm, and he’s held that against me for years. He is incredibly pale, and he has a dog that matches the color. His men tend to be pale as well.  
Mostly, he does lower crimes such as drugs, but sometimes he will step above and do some more criminal deeds. When he needs to, he hires hit men because most of his workers are too young and naive to ever do anything of value. To sum it up, over ninety-five percent of his workers are idiots, and those who aren’t tend to not stay long for him, no matter how good of a pay he gives them. However, do not think that because his workers are idiots means that he is an idiot. On the contrary, he is one of the smartest men that I have been unfortunate to ever meet. He is cunning and ruthless, and he kills without second thought.

Hypocrite, thought Bilbo. You do the same thing, perhaps every day.  
The thought sent a shiver down Bilbo’s back, but he knew it was best that he kept reading.

Smaug is an old enemy of mine, but he is long since dead. You might as well know more about him. His nickname was the fire drake, and though he didn’t do any of the actual killing, he didn’t like to get his hands dirty, he did do anything to get what he wanted. He was a lawyer by day, highly respectable and known to never lose a single case, but at night he drained many a rich from their fortunes. There was no end to this greed-it was rumored that he made an orphanage go bankrupt and I don’t doubt that. He had a tattoo of a dragon on his arm, and when he was not wearing a suit he would show it off with pride. That was how the police identified his body-the moment they saw the tattoo they knew without a doubt that he was Smaug. I laughed when I saw his face on the news. How pitiful the bastard looked!  
There are smaller gangs you should be aware of-the Trolls (mostly made of idiotic yet well-muscled teenagers), the Wargs (a group that mostly sides with Azog and specializes in training dogs), and the Spiders (a group that sides with Thranduil that train poisonous spiders).  
I hope that this helps you. Just ask if you’d like to discuss anything.  
Love,  
Thorin

Underneath, he had drawn gang symbols so Bilbo could identify them. Some were obvious, a symbol of a dog’s head for the Wargs and a spider for the Spiders, but Thranduil’s sign was rather blank, just a simply V with a small V in the center of it. Azog’s seemed to be a bunch of lines messily put together, and it was easily the hardest to identify. He hoped that this wouldn’t be a problem in the future.  
Bilbo crinkled up the paper, then put it on his nightstand. He could worry about that later.  
He walked into the kitchen and began a pot of tea. A headache was forming and he feared that this would eat him away. All he wanted to do was curl back up into bed and never come out again. It was tempting-there were no problems there, only a soft comforter, sheets, and a fluffy white pillow. But Thorin would drag him out and tell him that he’d find a way to make him stop thinking about it, that he could make it better.  
The tea did nothing to help him. It was far too hot, to where Bilbo felt as though it was on fire, and his tongue hurt. He stared at the wall as if it would give him answers to fixing his life problems, but of course it didn’t. His mind wondered off to a few years ago, where he would laugh and say nothing like this could really happen. Back then his mother wasn’t dead, but alive and healthy and happy, even after her husband’s death. She would be busy helping out low income children or debating poetry with her son.  
“Maybe this is all a dream,” Bilbo muttered, but the idea was too good to be true. “Maybe this is all a terrible nightmare and I just need to wake up.”  
It had all the characteristics of a nightmare, filled with monsters that were both unreal and yet existent, at least in this dream world. They were able to strike fear into hearts with a single glance.  
But no matter how many times Bilbo tried to wake up, he was still in Thorin’s kitchen.

~

Around two in the afternoon, after Bilbo had woken from his nap and taken a shower, a knock was at the door. He had just finished putting on his clothes, and he quickly tried to make his hair look decent rather than be the messy flop of curls it usually was.  
“Hello,” Bilbo said when he opened the door.  
“Hello yourself,” said Bofur, grinning from ear to ear.  
Bilbo smiled at him. Bofur was easily the man that Bilbo was closest with in Thorin’s group of men. He wore a rather silly hat as always, which he had once joked as being his “disguise”. Back then he hadn’t known how serious Bofur had been, especially with his light-hearted tone.  
A sudden idea hit him: Had the company always figured that Bilbo had known about Thorin’s job? Had they made jokes about it thinking that he knew the real meaning of it? Surely Thorin would’ve told them the truth, but maybe it had slipped his mind and they had just figured that Bilbo had known. Bilbo had just laughed when Bofur had said the joke, but could that have made the man think that Bilbo had known the truth? It was likely.  
“How are you?” Bilbo asked, opening the door to let him in.  
“Fine,” replied Bofur. “I just came at Thorin’s request.”  
Oh, thought Bilbo.  
“What does he need?”  
“Well, he needs your help.”  
“With what?”  
“He needs a burglar.”  
“I’m not a burglar!”  
There was a gleam in Bofur’s eyes. “I used to underestimate myself as well, thought I was nothing but a toymaker and a miner, the same for my brother and cousin, but I’ve learned I’m far more. Don’t think you’re nothing but a poet, though a very good one at that, but a burglar.” Bilbo wondered how Bofur had read any of his works-he didn’t remember ever giving him any of his works. Had Thorin shared it with him? Though it was a small act, the idea still deeply bothered Bilbo. What he wrote, especially what he mostly wrote only for Thorin, wasn’t just for anyone’s eyes.  
“I’ve never stolen in my life.” This wasn’t a lie.  
“We’ll change that,” Bofur said.  
Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest and did his best to suppress most of his fury. “Go back to Thorin right now and tell him that I have no wish to do something as foolish as become a burglar. His work has already affected me before, and I do not want that to happen to me again.”  
“But-”  
“No buts!” He didn’t mean to get so angry, especially not at someone as sweet as Bofur, but right now he didn’t have the time or energy to deal with Thorin’s shit. “I don’t want to be a burglar! Thorin should realize that this isn’t a wise decision, but I guess I’ll just have to set him straight.”  
Bofur stood in silence, but then eventually nodded. “I see your point.” He gently placed his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, and then patted it a few times. “You don’t deserve to deal with this like we do.” He smiled. “Sometimes even I wonder if this life is worth it.”  
Bilbo couldn’t help but return his smile.  
“I will tell him the truth, and only the truth. You’re right, you don’t deserve to go through this.”

~

Bilbo and Thorin were having a very heated discussion in their bedroom that night.  
“I am not getting stuck down in that hole of yours with you,” he said. He lay as far away from Thorin as he possibly could on their bed, though he desperately wanted to lean in and feel his warmth. Sometimes it was hard to not give in.  
“I need you to,” he said.  
“Hire someone.”  
“How will I know that I can trust them?” He reached out and attempted to pull Bilbo closer, but instead Bilbo pulled away, then got out of bed.  
“No,” he stated again. “I am not going to get mixed with your problems!”  
“But I need you!”  
“I could care less!” He stamped his large foot.  
“Please,” Thorin said.  
“Don’t pull the innocent act on me.”  
“I’m only asking for this once.”  
“Keep telling yourself that.”  
Thorin cocked his head, clearly confused.  
Bilbo sighed. “I mean that you can say you’ll only need my services once, but then you’ll say you need me just one more time, that third is as high as it’ll get, but then a fourth time is needed, a fifth just to be safe, a sixth to make sure things are alright. You’ll keep finding reasons for me to do what you say you absolutely must have me do, and I’ll keep doing it. I’m more of a grocer than a burglar.”  
“Don’t doubt yourself.” His voice was pleading.  
“No.” Bilbo sat down on the edge of the bed, staring out the window and at the city lights hanging over the lake. Outside it was peaceful, but inside a storm was brewing. “Stop parroting what Bofur said.”  
“I need you.”  
“You sound like a broken record.”  
“What do I have to do to convince you.”  
“Nothing, because you can’t.” Bilbo felt tears forming at his eyes. “Don’t you get it? I’m not going through what happened with Thranduil again if I can prevent it!”  
“It will be prevented!” Thorin sat up now, grabbing Bilbo’s shoulders. Bilbo’s eyes drifted down to the bandages around his wrists, and Thorin’s gaze followed his. “I won’t ever do that again.”  
Bilbo just shook him off again. “Why do you think that I need to help you?”  
“Because maybe it’d be easier for you if you were a part of my business instead of outside of it! You might as well be informed of every part of it!” And then Thorin got up and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It was so loud that Bilbo feared the entire city could’ve heard it, and he was sure Thorin’s sister and nephews had been awakened.  
Bilbo just sat in silence staring at the wall. He didn’t know how long he did it, looking at the clock would surely bother him, and it could have been anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours. He eventually turned off the light and went to sleep, and woke up later on in the night to find two arms wrapped possessively around his waist. The familiar scent of Thorin filled Bilbo’s nose.  
He closed his eyes again, forcing himself to sleep again. He wanted to separate himself from Thorin, but he knew that wasn’t possible.

~

When Bilbo woke up the next morning, Thorin was standing over him with a platter of food in his large hands. He looked down at Bilbo, his blue eyes filled with an emotion that Bilbo couldn’t identify. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if this was an illusion.  
“I am very sorry for my actions yesterday,” Thorin said, placing the food down for Bilbo.  
“Pancakes,” Bilbo muttered.  
“Yes,” Thorin said. “I made them myself.”  
“Are you trying to poison me?”  
Thorin laughed. “I did my best.”  
Bilbo took a bite, and though they certainly weren’t the best (his mother’s pancakes were nothing short of being made by a goddess, or rather had been), they definitely could have been worse. “They pass, but just barely.”  
Thorin smiled, the deepest one that Bilbo had ever seen him give not only him, but anyone. “I have to go now. I promise to make it up to you.”  
After Bilbo had finished, he showered, and after that sat at his laptop. He might as well try to write something while he had the chance. He only had so much energy, so it was best to use it for productive purposes. He cracked his knuckles, then opened a blank Word file that looked desperate to be filled.  
Some hours later, Bilbo finished. He had thought it had only been fifteen minutes of fast paced writing, but apparently he had worked for over four hours, and he’d gotten a good deal of work done over that time. He smiled, then shut off and closed his laptop.  
He made lunch-a simple ham and cheese sandwich with mustard, then turned on the TV and watched a mindless drama for a little while, eating chips at the same time.

~

“Thorin,” Bilbo whined. He crossed his arms over his chest. “This really isn’t necessary.”  
Thorin laughed. “It’s just dinner.”  
“At the most expensive restaurant in town!” Bilbo threw his hands in the air. “I would be perfectly fine with making dinner myself!”  
“You deserve a break.” Once stopped at the red light, Thorin leaned over and kissed the side of Bilbo’s head. “Besides, I need to make up to you for what happened last night.”  
Bilbo sighed. “There’s no way to defeat you, is there?”  
He shook his head, a smirk on his face. “I want to take you to a restaurant worth its money.”  
“Can’t we go to a different place like The Anshare? It’s still good quality but not as expensive or overdone as Bonjiro’s.”  
“We’re going because I want to take you.”  
Bilbo sighed in defeat. “Fine, you win.” He didn’t have the energy to keep fighting Thorin, and he certainly didn’t want to form a headache.  
“Hooray!” Thorin said, sounding absolutely gleeful.  
When they got to the restaurant, Thorin opened Bilbo’s car door. “Follow me.”  
Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.”  
The wine was the richest Bilbo had ever tasted, the food made of what had to be the most sought out ingredients in the world. Yes, it was good, but the design of the place bothered Bilbo. He usually wasn’t claustrophobic, but suddenly the restaurant seemed just a bit tighter, and the waiter in the fancy suit seemed even closer to him than he wanted. Thorin didn’t seem to care, just made light conversation.  
“How was your day?”  
“Productive.” Bilbo took another sip of his dark purple wine.  
“Mine too.” Thorin wasn’t drinking, stating that it was important that he be the designated driver. “So, have you reconsidered my offer?”  
“No.” Bilbo firmly stated.  
Thorin laughed. “I meant my other offer. Remember, the one in the car?”  
Bilbo couldn’t remember him mentioning another offer. “No.”  
“You know, the one about doing something together Friday afternoon. Surely you’ve heard me say it unless you’re going deaf like Oin.”  
Bilbo shook his head. “No, I remember now,” he lied. “I’d be happy to.”  
Thorin beamed. “That’s great!”  
They ate, making conversation in between. Bilbo ordered as many seconds as he desired, which was multiple because each dish was nothing short of magnificent, and he left with a takeout box full of leftovers. He also drank multiple cups of wine, though not enough to get drunk. He was still going rather well.  
After paying the bill, which Thorin said to not worry about the price and simply placed down the wad of bills on the table, telling the waiter to keep the change. Inside the car, Thorin leaned in and kissed Bilbo on the lips.  
“What would I do without you?” he asked once they had released their embrace.  
Hide my body, thought Bilbo.  
“I love you so much,” Thorin said.  
The wine was slowly getting to Bilbo’s head.  
“And I care about you more than I’ve ever cared for most.”  
Bilbo could understand that-he was a rather cold person to almost everyone, and sometimes even to his own family.  
They kissed again, this time slower, allowing them to enjoy each other.  
“I love you,” Thorin said. “Do you love me?”  
“Why wouldn’t I?” Bilbo quickly replied.  
Thorin smiled. “I don’t know.”  
Sometime during the car ride, which seemed to last hours, Bilbo spoke again. “I accept your offer.” A part of himself that begged to stay alive told him that it would be better if he accepted Thorin’s terms than denied them. “I’ll be your burglar.”  
Thorin cried out in happiness. “Bilbo, you’re an absolute lifesaver!”  
The rest after that was fuzzy, both from Bilbo’s exhaustion and from the wine. When he woke up the next day, or rather was woken up, Thorin was smiling down at him. “Come on,” he said. “We must be going off.”  
“Why?” Bilbo muttered.  
“Because, sleepyhead, we have work to do, and I’m driving you.”  
The night before rushed back to Bilbo. “Y-Yes.” He sat up and stretched out his arms.  
“If you hurry you can get a shower.”  
Bilbo didn’t need to be told twice, and quickly got up and scurried to the bathroom. “There better be hot water!”  
Thorin laughed. “Don’t worry, I saved you some.”  
Only after he’d gotten naked, the door closed behind him, did Bilbo notice the ring. The night before rushed back to him again.  
It was just after they’d gotten home when Thorin had smiled down at Bilbo and handed him the ring. It was gold, with a small white diamond on it. Along the sides were lines engraved on it in swirling patterns.  
“It’s beautiful,” Bilbo had murmured, almost asleep.  
Thorin gently ran his finger over Bilbo’s face. “It’s nowhere near as beautiful as you.” He held up a matching one. “Please, please marry me.”  
And that little voice inside Bilbo’s head that fought for survival told him to say yes. “Yes,” he said. “Of course I will.” That little voice told him that this was better than being dead, that things certainly could be worse, that he could learn to cope with this.  
And then Thorin’s lips had been on his, and it was warm and full of every emotion. Bilbo could taste them all like a mixed dish platter.  
He took off the ring and placed it next to his razor. He wanted to vomit at the very sight of it, but no food would really come up. Quickly, he jumped in the shower, repeating over and over in his head that things could be worse, that this was better than being dead.  
He was sure that Thorin’s victims would have gladly agreed with him if they were still alive.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't think that the relationship Thorin and Bilbo have is healthy. It is not. Other books would try to make what Thorin does look romantic-Hush, Hush, Twilight, Shattered Souls, FSoG-but relationships like this aren't.
> 
> Also, the drugs mentioned in this chapter do not exist and are entirely fictional.

The problem with suddenly becoming a burglar was having to learn how to steal. Back in elementary school, many years before, he’d heard of other children stealing candy or snack cakes, maybe small toys if they had the skills to pull it off. When he’d gotten into high school he’d heard of professional shop lifters that were his own age, but he’d never interacted with them, too busy with his studies. He had other things to do then hang out with what his father called future criminals and inmates. Bilbo had never partaken in such acts, and now he was suddenly supposed to be an expert in it.  
“So what do you need me to do?” Bilbo asked. He was nibbling at his thumb, the nail coming off. He hadn’t bitten his fingernails since he was a teenager, but suddenly it was like he’d never stopped the habit. He sat in Thorin’s office, and though it was normally rather large and spacious, it suddenly felt like it was the size of a small closet. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he forced himself to stay calm, hard as it was. His mother had told him stories of burglars in his childhood, but they always had a good motive. In the beginning it had been Robin Hood, then it had been the poor fighting the system. Thorin was too rich to suggest something with a good motive-it was pure greed, the feeling his mother had always warned him of. If she could see him now! She’d probably stop speaking to him for a time, and his mother’s silences could kill a person. If she stopped speaking with you then you’d have to do everything you possibly could to get back on her good side.  
Thorin bit his lip, a small action, but it showed that he was nervous none the less. “We have been planning on getting revenge on Thranduil.” His eyes and voice were steady, the former signs of being nervous gone, almost as if they never were there.  
Bilbo forced himself to remain calm. “You need me to steal from Thranduil, or worse steal him? Whole Foods will lose its best customer.” Despite the joke, he was quite nervous.  
Thorin laughed. “I need you to get one of his men. That’s it, that’s all. Once you grab one, it’s over for you, and I will be in need of you doing nothing else.”  
“What will you be doing after it?” Bilbo knew he was walking on a thin line, but this wasn’t the line he walked with Thorin, but on his answer. He knew very likely the answer would be terrifying and contribute to his nightmares (which would make it even harder for him to sleep), but he desperately wanted to know. He couldn’t just take one of Thranduil’s men and not even know what Thorin planned to do with him.  
“It’s simply to send Thranduil a message,” Thorin said. He clasped his hands together. “We are going to kill one of his men, and tell him we will kill everyone we can unless he stops interfering with us. This won’t be just because of you, our problems go back, but you are one of the reasons we did this. What he did forced us to speed ahead on destroying him.”  
You want him dead, don’t you? Bilbo thought. You want the man dead and rotting, just like Smaug, and someday you might want the same thing to happen with me.  
“And when do I do it?”  
Thorin looked him dead in the eyes. “As soon as you possibly can.”

~

He was crying and no matter what he did he couldn’t dam the tears. Thorin was running his hand over his back, whispering to him that everything was alright, that he did the right thing, but it was hard to believe him. His hands were shaking and his eyes couldn’t seem to stop releasing tears. It was like he was releasing all the tears that hadn’t come out before, but now nothing could stop them.  
“You did the right thing,” Thorin said.  
Everyone had been telling that to him over and over but he still couldn’t believe it.  
“You killed Thranduil,” they said, a deep pride in their voice. They’d patted him on the back, declared him a hero.  
“Served the bastard right,” said others. “And who better to kill him than you, Bilbo?”  
Thorin had been happiest to hear it.  
He’d been undercover, Thranduil walking outside of a grocery store. A few of his men were walking beside him, but they missed one small yet crucial part. Bilbo had pulled the trigger without thinking, knowing no matter what that someone would die.  
His body had hit the ground with the largest thump Bilbo had ever heard. Thranduil’s blood poured out of his head and out of the side where Bilbo had hit him, forming a large red pool around him. He heard a groan escape his lips, likely the last thing that would ever leave it. This would be marked as another city crime, nothing more, especially since it had been done at night. What was so irregular about someone being shot at night?  
Before his men could even look behind them, at where the shot came from he was running away as fast as he could. He could hardly believe that he’d done it, but he was the man with the gun in his hand. He dropped it into his duffle bag, then threw it over his shoulder. To anyone who passed by he was just a man out jogging, working up a sweat. He was too normal to be a murderer, and he wanted to keep it that way.  
Yes, Thranduil deserved it. But some part of him wouldn’t let him forget that he killed a man, that he was just like Thorin now.  
His footsteps echoed across the pavement, and sweat continued falling, and he began to breathe more. His asthma hadn’t bothered him for a long time, not since he was a teenager, but suddenly he was sure he’d need an inhaler, and fast. He was running towards the nearby pharmacy now, ignoring the screams from behind him, the sound of sirens. No one was after him, no one suspected him. He hadn’t been seen, and likely Thranduil’s men had been in as much shock as him when Thranduil fell dead. Something had possessed Bilbo to pull the trigger, if only to see if he could really do it.  
Thranduil’s obituary would be all the proof that he’d need.  
The pharmacy hadn’t been very crowded, but once he got there was when he remembered that he’d need a prescription if he wanted to get an inhaler. He ran into the bathroom and cried, wheezing all the while. Eru Iluvatar, how had he done it? Looking in the mirror, he couldn’t recognize himself. His mother wouldn’t know what to say.  
He and Thorin were alike.  
They were almost the same.  
He’d pulled out his cell phone and called to ask for a ride. Normally he would’ve called Bofur or Kili, but he’d dialed Thorin’s number, who had answered in seconds. He’d snuck out, and he knew Thorin would probably be furious, say he’d get into more dangerous, but he knew he’d deal with that later. However, he never had to.  
“Bilbo,” Thorin had said, sounding both furious and relieved. “Where the hell are you?”  
Bilbo forced himself to hold back tears, which felt suddenly as heavy as bricks. “Oh my Iluvatar, Thorin, I need you right now!”  
“What happened?” The anger shifted from being at him to someone else, who Thorin had waited for Bilbo to tell him who it was. “Does Thranduil have you again? Is it Azog?”  
“It’s Thranduil.” His voice had lowered, only to make sure others in the pharmacy couldn’t hear what he was talking about.  
“What the hell did he do to you? And so soon after the last incident! I’ll tear out his throat!”  
“You can’t!” The tears fell, the salt having stung his eyes enough that he finally relented and let the tears fall.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Just pick me up at the pharmacy by Lake Avenue, please.” He suddenly lacked energy, and wanted to just go home, curl up into a ball, and sleep. Sleep seemed like a little piece of heaven at the time.  
“I will.”  
And when he’d come, Bilbo had jumped in his car, closed the door, then began to cry. He’d told him everything, replaying everything that had happened in his mind and putting them into words. Thorin hadn’t interjected like Bilbo thought he would, just smiled and nodded every once in a while to show that he was still listening and not just focusing on the colors of the ever changing stoplight.  
“Bilbo, I’m so proud of you.”  
The tears fell out even faster, and he was sure he looked like a baby, but for once he didn’t care. He’d killed someone, and it bothered him, even if that person was Thranduil.  
He could never be proud of himself, and he knew that nothing would make him forget what happened. He’d taken one of Thorin’s guns-he had quite a few-the handgun that didn’t make a sound when it was fired. Thranduil’s murderer would never be discovered, so long as Thorin had a way in it. He could pull quite a few strings of fate and shrug it off as nothing.

~

Every single time he closed his eyes, Thranduil’s face flashed in front of him, each in different expressions. Sometimes he was happy, othertimes angry, a few times nonchalant, but mostly terrified. He looked as though there was a monster in front of him that only he could see. Bilbo made another cup of coffee, trying to keep his hands from shaking. It was terrifying knowing that he’d done that.  
He walked into the bathroom, the mug of coffee still in his hand, and he looked at himself. He was thinner, his eyes dimmer, his hair flatter and lighter, and his skin an unhealthy pale. Bilbo had once read a story where a man saw a pale, half-dead monster and a year later he looked like just like the creature as he was dying of illness. Searching through his mind, Bilbo did not recall seeing any monstrous skeletons, but he knew he looked half-dead. If his family saw him now they wouldn’t recognize him. A few might walk up to him and ask if he’s Bilbo, but then quickly run off and say they mistook him for someone else, and he wouldn’t bother to correct them. What would even be the point?  
The coffee was warm, bitter, and tasted like what he’d imagine his mood to taste. He thanked the Java Heads company for existing. Soon enough he’d live up to the company name.  
“Why are you still awake?” Thorin asked as Bilbo was about to take his sixth cup. Thorin stood at the entrance of the doorway, looking fearsome even in his pajamas. Bilbo’s heart raced.  
Is this what an addiction feels like? Bilbo wondered. If it was, he’d be an addict in no time, likely by tomorrow morning. He’d seen coffee addicts on TV, and they were mostly treated as jokes. This, however, was not by any means funny.  
“I can’t sleep,” Bilbo said.  
Thorin raised an eyebrow, then pointed at his mug. “And there’s your reason why.”  
He placed the mug down. It took all his self-restraint to not pick it up and down the entire mug right there in front of Thorin. He needed it like he needed air at that point, and he could see it as only getting worse from there. Thranduil’s face was going to drive him crazy eventually, and this was his only way to deal with it.  
He reached for the mug again.  
“Stop,” Thorin instructed, walking closer to him. “Place the mug.”  
Bilbo did as told and put the mug down, some of the dark brown liquid spilling out from the top. He had to hide his horror at the sight of the escaping liquid, and it took even more self-restraint to not lick the liquid off of the table. Why waste a single drop?  
He’d read somewhere that morality changes from one person to the other, but he knew that this was wrong, and there was no way to change that. You were free to think that sex before getting married to a person was fine, and you could think the exact opposite, but you could not justify killing a living human being living free of a host.  
“I got something for you,” Thorin said. He pulled something out of his pockets, and Bilbo saw that it was actually two plastic bags. One was filled with a light blue powder, the other a matching colored set of pills. He couldn’t tell how many were in the bag. “Take these and things will stop bothering you.” He opened the bag full of pills, shook two out, then handed them to Bilbo.  
“Do you think I’m going to do drugs?”  
“These aren’t just any kind of drugs,” he said. “These are very expensive and rather unknown to the mass market. They are expensive, but they work. I’ve used them multiple times.” He placed the bags down, walked up to Bilbo, took his hand, and placed the pills in his palm before closing his fingers over it. He turned and took the coffee pot out of the coffee maker, poured Bilbo another mugful, then pointed at it. “These things will knock you out no matter how much coffee you’ve got in your system right now. It’ll give you a great night’s sleep.”  
Bilbo grabbed his mug, put the pills in his mouth, and swallowed it down with thick, dark, bitter coffee. In only minutes he was about to fall over in exhaustion, and Thorin had to lead him to bed.  
It did, and it did the next night, and the next. The blue powder was calming, but it never gave Bilbo a high, so he always knew what was going on around him. When Thorin asked if he wanted more, he said yes. Thorin seemed all too happy to apply. He said there wasn’t much slang for it. It was rather unknown and highly priced, so it was safe to ask for some without others knowing about it.  
The pain of killing Thranduil went down with the pills.

~

It was getting easier to adjust once Thorin put the drugs in the picture. As long as he took it regularly he could forget about what Bilbo had done to Thranduil. Soon enough Thranduil was a thing of the past, and next down came Azog. He didn’t even flinch when he pulled the trigger.  
When he looked in the mirror he couldn’t recognize himself, but he rationalized that that was a good thing. There was still a part of him that was good and moral.  
Yes, there is, Bilbo told himself as he looked in the mirror. There has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm now finished with this fic, I plan on making another Mafia AU fic that's kind of fluffy, but with a twist. Bilbo will be okay with being with Thorin, but Bilbo will have secrets of his own.
> 
> The reason I ended the fic now was because I wanted to show Bilbo losing himself.
> 
> So yeah, please stay tuned for my next mafia fic that may or may not have more Panic! At the Disco quotes in the summary.


End file.
